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by Demented Amanuensis
Summary: Post-war, DH compliant, EWE. Severus Snape is making a life selling illicit potions and blackmailing people. Hermione wants to save him from himself and enlists Lucius's help. Written for a prompt by shiv5468, more HGLM than HGSS
1. Chapter 1

INTRODUCTION – Wherein Mr Winston Ipkiss briefly experiences self-doubt, which does not improve his character

INTRODUCTION – Wherein Mr Winston Ipkiss briefly experiences self-doubt, which does not improve his character

Mr Winston Ipkiss of Ipkiss, Ipkiss and Weldon had never seen such a strange couple. They had to be homos – what else could they be? That was, he mused, just typical. They knew at the office that he hated homos; he'd been very clear on the topic with that fairy Eric Henson, and after they'd had their, well, altercation, Henson had left the company, which was only right and proper, because Winston was, after all, the son of one of the senior partners (the other was his uncle). People at the office had become distinctly cool towards Winston after Eric had left, because everybody had liked Eric. Winston, however, knew that he was one day going to be boss, and the life of a boss was by definition a solitary one. You couldn't start getting used to that early enough. They didn't have to like you. They just had to do as they were told and work hard, preferably without wanting payment for overtime.

The fact that Winston was one day going to be boss unfortunately did nothing to make the present more enjoyable. His future minions – Winston refused to think of them as co-workers – did what they could to spite him, which explained why Laura had settled him with this pair. He pretended to be looking through his files, merely to give himself time for closer observation.

There was something subtly wrong about their appearance, for one. The blond guy, who was slightly shorter than his, erm, partner (Winston shuddered discreetly), was wearing a dark grey, three-piece business suit over a white shirt. It all looked quite all right, until you noticed that the collar of his shirt was rather higher than was strictly fashionable. Had been strictly fashionable, Winston corrected himself, since the end of the nineteenth century. And the tie… The tie was a little, well, unsettling. Mostly because the pattern of green and silver snakes on a black background seemed to move. Winston was of course aware that it had to be a trick of the light, but he could hardly stop himself casting surreptitious glances at the slithering reptiles.

The black-haired guy was clad in black jeans and a black shirt under a long black leather overcoat, which looked like something a highwayman might have worn. At least this all-black outfit was blissfully free of moving patterns, but the man had two rather ugly-looking scars on both sides of his throat. They reminded Winston of vampire movies he'd seen, because they looked almost exactly like the telltale puncture marks on the throats of Dracula's victims.

Both men wore their hair long and tied back in a ponytail (the blond had a black velvet bow, what a pervert!) and both were looking at him in a most disquieting manner. The blond was doing so with a degree of supreme arrogance Winston would have very much liked to achieve (but he couldn't very well ask how it was done, now could he?) and the dark guy with an expression that brought up unwelcome memories of Winston's maths teacher and being humiliated in front of his classmates.

The blond, however, looked as if he might have Money with a capital M, although you could never be quite sure these days about such things. Therefore Winston decided to concentrate on that perfectly likeable trait, rather than let himself be distracted by snakes gliding up and down a tie, and a pair of black eyes that seemed more interested in plumbing the depths of his soul than his air of dazzling professionalism.

'I understand,' Winston finally said, 'that you are looking for a flat in Soho, gentlemen. Although I haven't yet had the pleasure of hearing more about what you want – size, extra features, furnished or unfurnished, the usual you know – may I assure you that Ipkiss, Ipkiss and Weldon have been satisfying the needs of their clients since 1973. I'm sure we will find the object of your dreams,' he finished, and treated the two men to one of his charming smiles.

The corners of the blond's mouth moved fractionally. Winston would have liked to think of it as a smile, but it definitely wasn't. Piranhas smiled like that, and when you were close enough to a piranha to see its smile, somebody was going to be very glad you'd made them the beneficiary of your life insurance. The dark guy merely sighed and continued to make Winston feel as if he was being roasted over a small fire.

Winston cleared his throat. 'Well, erm, maybe we ought to start by discussing the sum you would like to invest. Property prices are skyrocketing at the moment, which of course does in no way imply that this isn't an excellent time for buying – the way things look, there is no reason why this upward development shouldn't continue. So it's still a sound investment, especially if you should decide to sell after, maybe, a few refurbishments.'

'Money,' the blond said, 'is of absolutely no importance here. So I'd suggest we don't talk about it. What Mr. Snape here' – he gestured at his black-haired companion – 'needs is a flat of sizeable proportions, whether furnished or unfurnished doesn't matter, in close vicinity of Charing Cross Road. These are all the specifications you're going to need, Mr, erm, Ipkiss. And now kindly tell us if you have any objects corresponding to our wishes.'

There was something about the man's tone of voice, Winston sensed, that simply didn't invite dissent or questions. He suddenly felt very young and unimportant, and the collar of his shirt felt rather tight. 'I, erm, yes. Would sizeable mean approximately, erm, 1200 square feet?'

The blond looked at his companion, who said, 'Yes, that would be more or less what we're looking for.' His voice was deep and a little hoarse, but no less commanding than the blond's mellow tenor.

Fighting the impulse to say 'Yes, SIR!' pull up his socks and run off to do as he'd been told, Winston merely nodded and tried to persuade his hands that they didn't have any reason to tremble. 'I think,' he said, 'I have just what you want. Two offers have already come in, but the owner thought he'd wait a little longer, merely to see if more bidders would come along. The asking price is 250.000 pounds, and the interested parties have already hinted that they'd be prepared to pay up to 275.000.' He leafed through a folder in search for pictures.

'How much would that be in galleons?' the blond asked his companion sotto voce.

'About eight thousand, give or take a few hundred,' the black-haired guy murmured.

Winston, who hadn't listened but watched, and was sure they were talking money, allowed himself to feel a bit smug. It was always the same, wasn't it? First they made a show of regarding money as if it was nothing, but when prices were named, they suddenly realized they didn't want to shell out quite as much. These two probably had a few thousand quid between them, and now they were embarrassed, because they'd taken up half an hour of Winston's time and didn't quite know how to get out of his office without looking like the complete idiots they were. Well, that was homos for you. Or maybe this was just some new homo trick to pick up boyfriends.

So immersed was Winston in his thoughts that he almost missed the blond's next words. 'Can we sign the contract today?'

Scarcely able to believe his ears, Winston gaped at the two men. 'Well, I don't know… You haven't even seen the place!'

'That,' said the black-haired guy called Snape, 'will not be necessary.'

'Will not…' Winston swallowed. 'All right, but I'll have to inform the owner about the offer you're going to put in.' He didn't quite understand what the two were saying to each other, mainly because he wasn't sure what a Spanish man-of-war could possibly have to do with buying property.

'300.000, in cash,' said the blond. 'The offer will be valid until 6 p.m.'

'Erm, yes?' Right now, Winston wasn't being very articulate, because his brain was busy calculating the percentage Ipkiss, Ipkiss and Weldon were going to cash in on this deal. A deal he, Winston, had clinched. Prepared mentally to pat his own shoulder for being a brilliant guy, because he'd finalized such a spectacular transaction, Winston was surprised to feel that his victory didn't really taste of victory. Somehow those two smug bastards had cheated him out of his triumph. Anyway, a deal made was a deal made, and, most of all, money was money. He flashed his clients the smile it had taken him months to perfect, because initially his eyes had failed to cooperate, and it hadn't looked genuine. 'How would you feel about signing the contract today at five p.m., gentlemen? I'm sure the owner will only be too happy to oblige.'

The two rose as one and gave a single, identical nod before they left the office. Winston half expected them to engage in some kind of display of affection – those homos just didn't have any sense of propriety – and kept a close look on the CCTV monitor, but they merely stood for a moment in the lobby, and then they were gone.

Winston rubbed his eyes. They were definitely gone, but he hadn't seen them leave through the door. They'd just… vanished. And since people just vanishing wasn't possible, Winston did the only sensible thing: he picked up the phone and gave Laura the dressing-down of her life, because she'd forgotten to call the CCTV technicians, as he'd told her to do three times already. Not that he had, but he was going to be boss, so who bloody cared?

PART ONE – Wherein Severus Snape ponders the advantages and drawbacks of being a social outcast

Severus Snape closed the door of his flat behind him, pulled his wand out of the holster on his left arm, and began to weave a series of complex, vicious wards, first on the door, then on the windows, and finally on the walls, floor and ceiling.

It was almost dark when he finished after more than three hours of intense and concentrated spell-casting; he'd worked without interruption. He sat down on the floor and, after lighting the tip of his wand with a muttered 'Lumos!', produced a series of miniature objects from the pockets of his leather coat. A few spells later the flat was furnished, sufficiently but sparsely, there were candles illuminating the room and books stacked up against the walls. He didn't have any shelves yet, but that could wait. First things first. He rummaged in his pockets until he found a cell phone, dialled a number and ordered a pizza and three bottles of water. When the pizza arrived, he'd already opened a bottle of wine and sat down to eat and brood.

It was difficult not to think of the flat Lucius had bought him as charity, but then beggars can't be choosers. He had saved Draco's life, and he'd been instrumental in Lucius's acquittal. His own life had been the payment for Draco's, and the flat was a compensation for his testimony, a more than fair price Lucius had paid, so that nobody owed anybody anything anymore. He was free, or as free as a man with no money could possibly be. But, he thought grimly, he wasn't going to remain poor for very long. Not that anybody was going to offer him a job. He ought to know, for he'd tried. No, nobody in the wizarding world – or rather wizarding England, which he had no intention of leaving – had wanted to hire Dumbledore's murderer, the Dark Headmaster of Hogwarts. The Wizengamot may have exonerated him and lifted all charges, but the wizarding population, or rather populace he mentally corrected himself, hadn't. They feared and hated him.

Being feared and hated, however, was something Severus was used to. His students had been afraid of him, even the Slytherins, and most of them had loathed him. Maybe not him, but certainly his teaching methods and cutting sarcasm. Of course they hadn't hated him as a person, because they'd had no idea who he was. His fellow teachers hadn't bothered to find out, either. Well, to be honest, some of them had given it a try, back when he'd joined the staff, but at that time he really hadn't cared about anything but Lily. Hadn't been able to care, to be exact. It had taken him years to get over what he'd done, and when he'd finally been able to live with himself and look out at the world at large it had been too late, because the world hadn't looked back at him anymore. Nobody had been interested in Severus Snape anymore, and those who hadn't simply written him off as an antisocial weirdo had regarded him with cautious suspicion, like for example Minerva.

While he was still teaching at Hogwarts, being unpopular – to put it mildly – hadn't caused him any problems, most of the time at least. Sometimes, yes, he'd felt the need for intelligent conversation or maybe a woman. If the craving had become too strong to suppress, he'd satisfied it as well as he could – women could be bought, after all, and he'd always been welcome at Malfoy Manor for a spot of dinner and discussion.

Now, however, he had no job, and next to no savings, and being a social outcast suddenly made life very difficult.

There were ways to remedy the situation, of course; twisted paths where others feared to tread. But then the paths Severus walked had always been more or less twisted, and fear was something he'd forbidden himself to feel. A matter of discipline, really. Then, during his year as Headmaster of Hogwarts, he'd somehow gone beyond fear. That had been the darkest period of his life, full of desperation and hopeless, powerless hate: the hate that had slowly built up within him and become a driving force that gave him strength, and the hate directed at him by teachers, students and Death Eaters alike, hot dark waves scorching his mind and soul.

And after it was all over… Severus flung the last slice of pizza back on the plate with disgust and poured himself another glass of wine. They'd given him nothing, less than nothing, after it was all over. A few shallow words and reluctant handshakes, yes. But nobody had cared enough to say, Thank you, I owe you my life, is there anything I can do? He was the hangman, the leper – every society needed its outcasts, because they were necessary for society continuously to redefine itself. The hangman had his clearly circumscribed part, which he must play, and society needed him. Nobody wanted to touch him or speak to him though. He was merely there to confirm that there was an inside and an outside, and that he had to live at the outmost periphery, would never be allowed inside.

And in the end, Severus thought grimly, the hangman began to enjoy his role and the fear it inspired. He led a solitary life and people avoided him, yes; but they gave his house a wide berth, and none of the boys even dreamed of stealing his apples or filching a loaf of bread from his kitchen. It was bitter bread, but at least it filled the stomach. If you had the choice between starving or washing down the bitter bread of social exile with a drink of vinegar and bile, you chose survival.

His flat outside of but close to the biggest of wizarding districts in London had been the first step towards the new life Severus intended to build for himself. He may be penniless at the moment, but the money was out there, lots of it, and some of it was going to end up in his pockets. He was a first-rate potions brewer, and potions, illegal potions, would provide him with a nice and steady income. The contact with Borgin & Burkes had been established through Lucius, and the shady shopkeeper in Nocturn Alley had consented to act as Severus's retailer.

Illegal potions, though, weren't the only goods Severus was planning to sell. He possessed a stock of merchandise both less tangible and more precious: secrets. Years of spying, of listening to conversations and at closed doors, had provided him with knowledge about pretty much everybody in wizarding England. And some of that knowledge, if it fell into the wrong hands, might be used in very detrimental ways indeed. Reputation was such a fragile thing, so easily shattered, so difficult to rebuild, especially in times like these, when everybody was still suspecting everybody else of being a sympathizer or collaborator. A small flask containing a compromising memory might suddenly be worth hundreds of galleons.

What others chose to call blackmail, Severus told himself, was in reality a simple business transaction, as far as the wizarding world was concerned. Since memories could be extracted and, according to one's needs, either revisited or destroyed, there was no risk of the blackmailer becoming a lifelong parasite. You took the memory out of your head, you sold it for what it was worth to your business partner, and that was as far as it went. A simple business deal. Supply and demand. Nobody was harmed, everybody got what they wanted.

PART TWO – Wherein Lucius Malfoy succumbs to the lure of cognac

With Draco finishing school at Beauxbatons – a return to Hogwarts had seemed neither possible nor desirable – and Narcissa having left, Malfoy Manor suddenly seemed a very large and hollow place to live in. Lucius Malfoy had retired to his study. It was, compared to the large rooms on the ground and first floor at least, rather small and cosy. Up here on the second floor the ceilings were lower, the windows still large but of less grandiose dimensions than downstairs. The rugs, books and furniture surrounding him here had given Lucius comfort since he'd returned home aged eighteen, a young wizard greedy for life and ready to take over the world.

Even during Voldemort's stay at the manor, nobody had disturbed the privacy of this sanctum. Lucius hadn't entered it either, anxious not to disclose to the Dark Lord or, worse, his sister-in-law Bellatrix the existence of this cherished space. The study had been a kind of externalized secret part of himself, untouched and safe, and the thought of being able to go back there when everything would finally be over had played a more important part in keeping his sanity, Lucius sometimes thought, than ensuring his wife and son's survival.

He'd paid for his errors, in every sense of the word. He'd lost his influence – though only temporarily, or so he liked to think – his beliefs had been torn out of him, his soul flayed alive while he'd been forced to watch, he'd lost a large part of his fortune, his wife had left him and was preparing a formal divorce, and his son had made very clear that he didn't want anything to do with the man who'd almost destroyed his life.

A few days ago, he'd settled his debt with Severus. Ten thousand galleons had been a comparatively small price to pay. During the last two years Severus had done more than could've been expected; Lucius having saved his life would have been more than sufficient compensation though. Then, however, Severus had given the witness statement that ensured Lucius's acquittal. Lucius would have given him anything for having obtained his freedom, but Severus had insisted that the flat was enough, and that this was what he wanted.

Aware that he was drinking too much and starting too early in the day, Lucius poured himself another cognac. Had he lost Severus too? Buying the flat in Muggle London had seemed like an oddly final gesture. Not that Severus intended to leave the wizarding world for good, but still… His friend, if Lucius could still call him that, was so full of hate that Lucius had to admit to himself that he was frightened. He could see how and why Severus had turned into a hermit burning with envy and resentment – Severus was one of life's losers, to put it bluntly, had been one of life's losers for as long as he'd known him. Since Lucius still thought of himself as a winner, despite his losses, he was aware he could gain insight into Severus's ways of thinking only to a certain degree.

Although he'd believed in pureblood supremacy for all his life, Lucius had never given his heart and soul to either Voldemort or the ideology he stood for. He'd married young, maybe not for love but certainly for lust, he'd inherited the family fortune together with the numerous obligations it entailed a short time after his wedding, and not much later he'd had a son. There hadn't been much left to give Voldemort, and it certainly hadn't been personal. Later, after Voldemort's return to life, it had become personal, and that was when Lucius had understood, although much too late, that a few thousand galleons and lip service weren't enough anymore to satisfy his master. After he'd come back, Voldemort had wanted to possess his followers completely, skin and bone and heart and soul, and with every defeat and disappointment it had got worse. Only then had it dawned on Lucius that he was in way over his head and couldn't go back, because his weaknesses – family, power, money, the Malfoy way of life in short – had become strings for Voldemort to pull and make him dance. He'd had too much to lose and, ironically, in the end he'd lost it all, despite his efforts to hold on to it.

With Severus, things had been different. Severus hadn't possessed anything except talent, intelligence and ambition. He, too, had a weakness of course, just as every other human being. He'd always wanted to belong. That had been the one string attached to his heart – Voldemort had seen it the instant he laid eyes on the young wizard. If he'd been a little more careful, a little less convinced of the absolute power of his own charisma, he would've handled that string with more care and gained the most loyal and faithful follower he could have wished for. He had, however, never been a good judge of character and yanked the string so hard that it tore. Only, Lucius thought and chuckled to himself, to be carefully mended by Dumbledore, who'd been a much more cunning and clever puppeteer. Dumbledore had played that string like an instrument, for years, always close to breaking point. In the end, he'd made Severus cut it himself. Since then, Severus had been adrift.

Lucius had never quite understood his own soft spot for Severus. He'd taken an instant liking to the neglected, intense eleven-year-old, and had never ceased to like him. Sometimes he felt the possibility of losing this friend more painfully than Draco's alienation or Narcissa's desertion. Maybe he ought not to have settled the debt just yet. Maybe he ought to have tried a little harder. It would have been nice to have a friend. Then again, Lucius told himself while refilling his glass, it probably wouldn't have worked, not with Severus, and not while all the wounds were still so fresh. Since he'd been forced to murder Dumbledore, Severus didn't seem to have any more weaknesses. He'd always been a hard, harsh man, but now he was as cold and smooth as a sphere of pure, polished steel. There wasn't any scratch or dent to give you a hold. The wounds had sealed over but not healed. Time, or so they said, healed all wounds. Maybe all they needed was time. He certainly had enough of that, and he also had a sufficient amount of cognac to make it pass agreeably, in a soft, blurry haze.


	2. Chapter 2

PART THREE – Wherein Gringotts is unhelpful, and Hermione Granger tries to be helpful, both with predictably unpleasant result

PART THREE – Wherein Gringotts is unhelpful, and Hermione Granger tries to be helpful, both with predictably unpleasant results

'Look here, Bentclaw,' Severus said to the goblin, 'I am quite obviously myself, so kindly let me know how much I've got in my vault.'

'It's against the regulations.' The goblin teller peered up at the black-haired wizard. 'You either go to your vault and have a look yourself,' he repeated for the third time, 'or you don't. It's up to you. As for me, I'm under orders not to tell, or write down, or in any way communicate the contents of our customers' vaults to anybody. That how it's been for seven centuries, and Gringotts won't alter their policy merely because you think you have better things to do than go down to the caves.'

'All right.' His hands were balled into fists so tight that the muscles hurt. Severus made his fingers relax carefully, one by one, while breathing deeply. 'Very well. I'll go down to my vault and see for myself.'

Bentclaw made a noise that sounded like a heavy cart moving over an uneven gravel road; probably it was supposed to be a chuckle, but Severus wasn't quite sure. It might just as well have been a cough or a sound of disapproval. You never really knew with goblins. Given their love of gold, which didn't distinguish between their own and their clients', it probably was displeasure. The less the customers knew, the better. If they went to count the contents of their vaults, chances were they'd make a withdrawal. 'If you insist,' the goblin finally croaked.

'It should be obvious from the conversation we just had that I don't,' Severus said cuttingly.

Bentclaw glared at him and then back down at his register, impervious to the sarcasm, simply because he didn't understand it. Irony, metaphor, sarcasm – it was all lost on goblins. Whatever you said to them, they took it literally, with sometimes interesting results. 'You don't?' Bentclaw looked up from the enormous tome and fixed his difficult client with reptilian eyes.

Severus sighed. 'Yes, I do. I'm waiting with bated breath. I'm practically panting with anticipation.'

'No, you're not,' the goblin said. 'You're breathing quite normally. For a human being,' he added scrupulously, before fishing a centipede out of the jar standing next to the book and munching it with obvious relish.

'Thank you.' Severus fought the urge to be sick right there on the counter. 'Who will be accompanying me to the caves?'

Bentclaw gestured towards the end of the long row of counters. 'You'll have to queue, just like everybody else.' He snatched another centipede.

He'd been selling his potions through Borgin & Burkes for six months now, and he'd also sold five memories so far. If his calculations were correct, there ought to be about five thousand galleons in his vault. It was a lot of money for somebody who'd never had any to speak of, and Severus needed tangible proof. He wanted to touch the coins and count them. He needed to feel their smooth coolness take warmth from his hands, to make sure they were real. If possible, he would have wanted scales with which to weigh the money he'd accumulated against his loneliness and misery and hatred. Maybe, once there was enough gold, it would outweigh the bitterness. He'd never understood those who claimed that money didn't make you happy. The saying had probably been coined by people like Lucius, who couldn't even imagine what being poor was like. Of course money could buy happiness, he just wasn't quite sure how much he was going to need and what happiness felt like.

The line that had formed at the entrance to the caves was longer than Severus had anticipated. There were, he counted, nine people waiting ahead of him. He briefly pondered whether he shouldn't just go home and return another day, but abandoned the idea. He needed to see his money. Today wasn't a good day – Fawnsley, the owner of the place Greyback had used as a hideout, had reluctantly paid for Severus's memory of the Death Eater werewolf snarling a greeting at his landlord and throwing him a pouch of coins to pay his rent, but the man's hands had seemed strangely fragile, and he'd been trembling all over, and the look in his eyes had been faraway and empty.

Severus preferred his business partners angry or coolly arrogant, or even contemptuous. Fawnsley had been a victim rather than a business partner, and Severus disliked victims. The wife of Robert Westkin, a minor Ministry employee and altogether harmless Death Eater who'd never been identified and had died a few weeks ago, had been a victim too, handing Severus two hundred galleons she'd claimed were all she had. People like that made him feel uncomfortable, so much so that he was glad their galleons he paid into his account were not the same coins that finished up in his vault. Touching them would've made him feel… guilty. He hated feeling guilty as much as he hated victims. Guilt had been a defining part of his life for too long. He didn't want any more guilt. He wanted what was rightfully his. His due, nothing more and nothing less.

With only a perfunctory glance at the waiting wizards and witches, Severus stood last in line, contemplating whom to target next. He had to bide his time and choose with care – somebody like Philippa Westkin or Greg Fawnsley was out of the question. He did know things about Shacklebolt… There'd always been such an atmosphere of frankness at those Order meetings, and even an experienced Auror like Kingsley had obviously believed that, if Dumbledore twinkled at him and told him he was a good boy, he'd been granted absolution of all his wrongdoings. But trying to sell Kingsley one of his memories would be sheer madness. The Minister was much too popular at the moment; he'd just go and confess everything to the _Prophet_ in an exclusive interview and somehow manage to become even more popular not in spite, but because of this convincing show of humanity. No, Kingsley was best left for later, if ever.

A goblin made his way towards the waiting queue; he was pushing a cart heaped high with stacks of coins. The witch in line before Severus took a step back in order to let the goblin pass, and trod painfully on Severus's toes. She hadn't left enough room for the cart though, and was ruthlessly pushed aside, stumbled and would have fallen, had Severus not caught her.

'You could've said something, you arrogant git!' the witch snapped after the goblin, who looked back over his shoulder and cawed something in gobbledegook, which certainly wasn't meant to flatter the lady. 'Bastard,' she murmured, rubbing her knee that had made painful contact with the cart. Then, obviously remembering that she'd been saved from landing on her bottom by somebody standing behind her, she turned round. 'Thank y- Professor _Snape_?'

Hermione Granger's voice had carried – if she wanted it to, because she'd been perfectly able to drop forbidden hints to Longbottom in muted tones she'd thought were inaudible – like a bell over the ruckus of chopping knives, bubbling potions and even the occasional small explosion in the Potions classroom. Here, in the ponderous silence of Gringotts' bank, it cut through the discreet atmosphere like the first bolt of lightning through a dark night sky. It echoed and reverberated off the gold and marble, and customers and goblins alike were craning their heads to see what was going on.

'Be quiet!' Severus hissed.

Huge brown eyes were staring up at him with an expression he could only call rapt. 'Professor Snape!' she repeated, almost at a whisper. 'How are you? Where have you been?' She was practically bouncing up and down, her mad frizzy curls doing a lunatic dance all of their own.

'Be quiet, Miss Granger, for heaven's sake!' he repeated, more sharply. 'Can't you see that you're attracting attention?'

'But… but…' She looked around wildly, and then back at him. 'But I want to talk to you!'

'There is nothing I could possibly want to talk to you about,' he hissed back.

'Yes, I know, I mean that's quite obvious, isn't it, but… Please, Professor Snape. Can't we just go outside for a moment and talk?'

Aware that their sibilant exchange was drawing attention, Severus briefly weighed the discomfort of being made a public spectacle of against the unpleasantness of being harangued by the obnoxious girl away from prying eyes and decided in favour of the latter. She followed him out of the building at a run, like an overanxious small dog. He half expected her to yap excitedly.

They'd hardly stepped into a quiet corner, when she snatched his right hand to hold it between both of hers. They were shaking. 'Professor, I'm so sorry, I've wanted to speak to you for such a long time!' She blushed and bit her lip, as Severus yanked his fingers out of her grip.

'Miss Granger, I may have been your teacher, but that is no reason for you to call me professor. And I believe I already made it clear that I do not want to talk to you!'

She sighed and nodded, avoiding his stare. 'That's all right,' she said quietly. 'I… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…' She gestured at the white marble façade of Gringotts, which was almost blindingly bright in the March sun. 'It's just – I know you hate me,' she blurted out, 'but I've wanted to apologize to you since, since we left you at the Shrieking Shack, but they wouldn't let me!'

'You have nothing to apologize for,' Severus replied stiffly. 'You are what all your peers are, a mindless, careless child. That's what you are, and that's what you behaved like. One cannot apologize for what one is. Or rather, one can, but it is as useless as it is stupid. So kindly spare me this revolting show of hypocrisy.' He turned away briskly, only to be yanked back by his sleeve. The hand that was gripping a fistful of fabric was white-knuckled. Severus stared first at the fist, and then at the young woman who'd had the audacity to touch him. 'Let go,' he said, 'let go of me this instant, you impudent brat!'

Se stood her ground, though visibly afraid, and shook her head. 'No. I want you to hear me out.'

The wave of fury and hatred welling up within him was so strong that he needed all his willpower not to hit her. 'Hear you out?' he repeated, stepping closer, so that she was forced to bare her throat, if she wanted to look at him. 'Hear you out? Listen to your pathetic apology, Miss Granger, so you feel better and can leave with a clear conscience?'

'It's not about me,' she said, eyes brimming with tears.

'No?'

The violent sarcasm he managed to confer in a single syllable made her recoil, but she still clung to his sleeve. 'No,' she said, her voice shaking. 'I swear. I know it doesn't mean anything to you, but-'

'Then why bother,' he said brutally. 'Because you're quite right, Miss Granger, it doesn't mean anything. It disgusts me. Words' – he grabbed her wrist and squeezed, hard, so that she whimpered and let go of his robes – 'words are meaningless. I won't listen to them, and I hope you'll choke on them!'

He turned briskly and strode away. This time, she let him go.

PART FOUR – Wherein Lucius Malfoy has an unexpected visitor and becomes aware that alcohol isn't the only temptation

Fillikins & Whatnot had sent the divorce papers. They were sitting on the desk in Lucius's study, next to a carafe of cognac. The weak sun of an early spring morning reached pale fingers through the window, through the carafe and the liquid it contained, and out again – now they were tinged amber, and they'd gained warmth. The heavy, creamy sheets of parchment assumed a new, pleasant colour under their touch. Lucius, reclining in his chair, was working on an aphorism about cognac and its power to cast a pleasant light even on divorce papers, and he was fighting the desire to pour himself his first glass at ten a.m.

It wasn't the drink in itself he craved – last night's binge had left him with a headache, a weak stomach and a death wish. What he yearned for was the pleasant light-headedness, the sensation that the world was slowly receding and losing its contours. And he didn't know how else to achieve this state, except by consuming alcohol. Cognac, the treacherous friend. He snorted. His metaphors were becoming more trite by the second. Severus was a treacherous friend. Cognac was merely a means to an end, and once its effect had passed, he had to pay the price. Well, he'd paid Severus too, but that was… different. He couldn't put his finger on the exact nature of the difference, but he knew it was there.

He groaned and covered his eyes with his hands. He'd had a cup of weak tea after getting out of bed; maybe he ought to go down and have breakfast. He'd already bathed and shaved – or hadn't he? It was a bit difficult to remember, because every day was the same as the day before and the day before that… Lucius rubbed his jaw with both thumbs, careful to keep his hands over his eyes. The skin was smooth. So he had shaved. He may be turning into an alcoholic, but one had to keep up certain standards. Such as bathing, and shaving, and going down for breakfast instead of having the Elves bring it up to his den. Breakfast, yes definitely. He hoisted himself out of the chair and made his way towards the door. The bloody papers could wait another day.

The footsteps of their master descending the stairs galvanized the House Elves into hectic but orderly action, and when Lucius entered the morning room, he knew breakfast was waiting, although he'd had to close his eyes against the sunlight. Clouds of coffee aroma were dancing with the perfume of freshly baked cake, bread and rolls, their valse gourmande accompanied by blasts of bacon aroma and soft accords of fried egg, mushrooms and tomatoes.

A cup of strong, black coffee and two glasses of orange juice later, Lucius began to feel like a human being, strong enough for a slice of toast and a poached egg. He'd just reached for the butter, when an elf came crab-walking into the room. An elf side-slouching in through the door usually meant that he had an unwelcome visitor. Since it was only fifteen minutes past ten, visitors were unwelcome on principle.

'I begs your pardon Master,' the elf squeaked, 'but there is somebody here to see Master.'

Lucius sighed. 'Does somebody have a name, Drippy?'

The elf, obviously regaining confidence, since it hadn't yet been kicked, nodded. 'Yes, Master. Somebody says she is Miss Granger.'

'Granger?' Lucius took a sip of coffee and tried to give a face to the name. 'Did she say what she wanted to see me about?'

'Yes, Master.' The elf beamed up at him.

Only his still-persistent headache kept Lucius from delivering a sound kick. 'And are you going to tell me what she said?'

There must've been a dangerous glint in his eyes, for the elf hurriedly retreated out of the reach of his foot. 'Yes, Master, sorry Master. Miss Granger says she wants to talk to you about Professor Snape, Master.'

'Did she say Professor?'

Another ear-flapping nod. 'Yes, Master, Drippy remembers it perfectly well.'

'Hm.' Lucius finished buttering his toast. 'So she must be quite young, well, at least under thirty-five, if he used to be her teacher. Show her in.'

'Should Drippy sets a place at the table for Miss Granger, Master?'

Lucius cocked his head. 'Come to think of it, why not.' Granger, he thought. Granger… the name did ring a bell, but he was damned if he knew… Then the door opened to admit a girl with a frizzy mop of hair, and he remembered. 'Miss Granger,' he said, rising from his chair to shake her hand, 'what an unexpected pleasure.' To judge from her bewildered expression, she hadn't been prepared for the civil welcome or the seat he offered her. 'I trust you will share my breakfast – please forgive my state of deshabillé.'

She blushed vividly. 'You look quite dressed.'

'Yes. Yes, of course, I seldom partake of breakfast naked. I was alluding to being clad in a dressing gown.'

'Oh, I see. Well, that's all right I suppose, since you weren't expecting me. Thanks,' she said to Drippy, who'd offered her the coffeepot. 'Mr Malfoy, I'm very sorry to barge in like this, I mean unannounced, but I need to talk to you.'

Lucius sighed inwardly – why was it that Gryffindors were completely unable to observe even the simplest rules of polite behaviour? 'How are you, Miss Granger?' he said aloud.

'Fine, thanks, Mr Malfoy. I wanted to talk to you about-'

'Severus. I know. I'm very well, too, thank you for asking.'

Her face went a deep crimson. 'Delighted to hear it,' she replied with more bravado than he'd given her credit for. 'And your family?'

'How kind of you to inquire. My wife has just sent the divorce papers for me to sign. Draco, or so I hear, is doing well at Beauxbatons.'

She put down her coffee cup and shot him a pleading look. 'I just don't seem to get it right.'

'You didn't do too badly, especially with the transition from mortification to light small talk. Very nicely done, although the blushing gave you away. However, if you're willing to take the advice of an enemy: Never ever ask about anyone's family unless you're absolutely positive they're healthy, alive and happily united. Or the contrary, if that's what makes your interlocutor happy.'

'I don't think we're enemies anymore,' she said slowly. 'If we were, or rather if I were under that impression, I would hardly have come to see you.'

'I trust you're not too keen on a career in politics?'

She laughed. 'I don't think I could do that.'

'Nor do I. Very well Miss Granger, it seems that you want to discuss Severus.'

'Yes. That is, I think you're friends, aren't you? I mean, you saved his life.'

'I certainly did.'

'Exactly. So I thought, I mean I concluded… You wouldn't have saved his life unless you were friends, would you?'

'I certainly had good reasons to prevent his death.'

She put down her cup and shook her head, curls a-jump. 'Why don't you simply say yes or no?'

'Wouldn't that rather take the fun out of a conversation?'

Shoulders sagging, she sighed. 'Look, Mr Malfoy, making fun of me isn't very nice, and not very polite either. If you don't want to talk to me, tell me to leave, and I'll go.'

Lucius smiled, bowed his head and said, 'Would you care for some toast and ham to go with your coffee?' For a moment he thought she was going to throw the coffee cup at him, but then she started to giggle. 'If the mere thought of toast and ham is so exhilarating,' Lucius said mildly, 'I absolutely insist that you have some. And maybe you'd also like to tell me about Severus.'

When she'd finished her account of meeting her former teacher the day before at Gringotts, Lucius didn't quite know what to say. She saved him the trouble of coming up with a suitably nondescript reply, however, and continued, 'I honestly didn't mean to insult him. And I have no idea what came over me – I mean, grabbing Professor Snape by the sleeve, and… The thing is, and that's what I came to see you about, I'm worried about him. Of course I wanted to apologize to him, but I hoped we could also talk, because I think he's going to be in big trouble.'

'Severus, in trouble? My dear Miss Granger, trouble is Severus's middle name. That notwithstanding, he always knows how to get himself out of it. It's just the way he is.'

'I'm talking about trouble with a capital T here.'

'Would you care to elaborate? Have some Danish pastries.'

'I certainly would, if you had answered my question.'

'And which question,' Lucius inquired, amused despite himself, 'would that be?'

'When I asked you if you are friends.'

'Oh, that question. Am I correct in assuming that you think I'd precipitate his way into trouble if we weren't?'

'Well, obviously. Or wouldn't you?'

'We could be acquainted, or loosely associated in some way or other.'

'That's a bit silly, Mr Malfoy.'

'Is it? I merely meant to point out to you that not being friends doesn't automatically imply we're enemies.' Taking pity on her, he added, 'I wouldn't do anything to harm him.'

She beamed at him. 'You see? It's quite easy, you just have to try. Thanks for reassuring me.'

'Nothing could possibly give me greater pleasure.' That wasn't quite the truth. She had very full lips, and lovely perky breasts… There was a lot of things he might do to her that would give him greater pleasure. Her too, he was sure. He was only forty-five, and he hadn't had sex for almost two years – sleeping with one's wife with her psychotic sister in the next room and Voldemort under the same roof would have been awkward enough, even without the added benefit of Narcissa sharing her sister's belief that a man without a wand wasn't a man anymore. Lucius was beginning to think that eight stones of nubile young witch in the same room wasn't bad at all, especially since the witch wasn't only nubile but also very, very naïve.

'So, are you interested?'

His eyes lost in contemplation of her breasts, Lucius absentmindedly replied, 'You have no idea.'

'Mr Malfoy? Are you all right?'

Too much cognac, he thought, snapping out of his reverie, too much cognac and too little company. He had to watch himself more carefully. 'Just a little tired. Please, Miss Granger, tell me more about Severus and the trouble he's getting himself into.'

He'd known about the illicit potions, since he'd been the one to negotiate the deal with Borgin. But the blackmailing was news to him. 'How come you know about all this, Miss Granger? Or rather, how come you learned about it before Law Enforcement did?'

Lucius thought the girl's head was going to explode right there and then. If he'd believed she was blushing before, he hadn't seen anything yet. 'I was afraid you were going to ask me that,' she said, her voice small.

'Stands to reason, yes.'

'Would you believe that what I'm going to tell you is the truth, even if I didn't reveal how I came to know about it?'

So young, so sweet, so ripe for the plucking. She didn't think of him as an enemy anymore – she was right about that, but then he'd never been her enemy, not personally, and his views on Muggleborns had changed rather radically, in that he still thought of them as second class but quite useful at times – and he'd done nothing to prove her wrong, and already she was ready to spill out her secrets to him! With a bit of encouragement, that is. Really, if he took, erm, care of her, he'd be doing the girl a favour. She might fall into much worse hands. 'I think,' he said gravely, 'that we ought to establish a basis of mutual confidence. Why don't you tell me all about it?'

'Because it's very embarrassing.'

'Miss Granger – may I call you Hermione?'

'Y-yes, if you'd like to.'

'Hermione, do you know how old I am?'

'The _Prophet_ said you were 41, two years ago. So you have to be 43 – not that they ever tell the truth, but it seems more or less right.'

'There is not an ounce of mercy in you, Hermione, is there?'

She fiddled with the handle of her cup. 'I'm not sure what you mean – you're a wizard, 43 isn't old. I mean' – she was blushing again – 'not that it would be old in a Muggle, it's just that, compared to a wizard's life expectancy…'

There was something about that girl… Innocence. He hadn't often encountered it, but recognized it when he saw it. She was also naïve, and socially inept, but the innocence somehow tempered those basically irritating traits. If a pinch of healthy cynicism were added to that innocence, not quite enough to destroy it, but to give it a certain twist, like a splash of lime added to strawberries and sugar… She might become a formidable witch. What a worthy task. 'And you know about my past, don't you?'

Glad to have left what had begun to look like very slippery ground indeed, she nodded. 'I know what everybody knows. With a few extras.' Her eyes strayed towards the door.

Yes, Lucius thought, she'd passed that particular salon on her way to the breakfast room. He mentally bowed to her. Facing him with that memory still vivid in her mind couldn't have been easy. He hadn't been the one who actively hurt her, but he'd been there. 'Knowing all that, Hermione, what is there for you to be embarrassed about? Believe me, I've seen it all. But let me hazard an educated guess: you went to Borgin & Burkes for a love potion.'

Her eyes went wide. 'You're reading my mind!'

'I assure you I'm no Legilimens. I do, however, know how to put two and two together. Whom did you wish to ensnare, if I may ask?'

Now there were tears in her eyes. 'Nobody. It was… it wasn't exactly a love potion. And it was…' Her voice faltered, but she went on doggedly, 'It was for me.'

'Not exactly a – and it was for you?' Lucius shook his head in exasperation. 'I refuse to think that you would be one of the foolish girls who actually believe a maladroit adolescent who tells them they're frigid!'

'He was very convincing,' she muttered stubbornly.

'Be that as it may,' Lucius said lightly, filing away the information for later use, 'I am honoured by your trust. So you went to Borgin & Burkes and saw Severus, correct?'

'More or less, yes. You see, I was suddenly, uh, not quite sure whether I really wanted to do this, and so I was trying to come to a decision. I was standing in a corner, at a distance from the shop, and that's how I saw him without being seen. He used to have this special box for transporting potions back at school, so I was sure that that's what he was doing. And then I did enter the shop, and Mr Borgin showed me the list of available potions. The lust potion I'd intended to buy was on it, with the ingredients written next to the name, and so I knew it had to be Professor Snape who brewed it.'

'Did you recognize the handwriting?'

'No! You don't honestly think he'd be that stupid!' She looked at him as if he was an exceptionally dim child. 'It was the ingredients, of course. He used to have this potions textbook as a student, which fell into Harry's hands – long story,' she said, seeing Lucius's look of surprise. 'Anyway, the book had a lot of annotations about ways to improve the recipes. He'd changed one ingredient in the Aqua Maenadia, and he'd done the same on the list.'

Intrigued, Lucius leaned back in his chair, the better to look at her. 'You bought Aqua Maenadia? Did it work?'

'No, I didn't. I was too shocked about my discovery. And I… well, I came to the conclusion that it was better to dump Ron. So I did, last week.'

'Would the unfortunate young man be Ronald Weasley, by any chance?'

She nodded. 'Yes, we've been… uh, together since the end of the war.'

Lucius could hardly believe it. The girl had had sex with a Weasley, and she'd fallen for the old frigidity trap! One more reason to take her in hand. All of her. Especially those lovely breasts. What he'd glimpsed of the buttocks had looked very promising, too. 'And the attempted blackmail? How did you learn about that?'

'The victim – I can't tell you the name, obviously – the victim lives in the house next to Harry's, where I'm living, too, for the time being. Something was wrong with the delivery owl, I saw it sitting on our neighbour's balcony rail, all fluffed up and its haws inflamed and closed, poor thing. So I went out on the balcony – they almost touch – and made it hop on my arm. Then I saw the letter it was carrying, and this time I did recognize Professor Snape's handwriting. I confess that I opened it. After what I'd seen at Borgin & Burkes… I just couldn't resist.'

'What did you do with the letter?'

She sighed and shrugged. 'First I thought I'd destroy it, but then it occurred to me that I might not be doing Mrs – I mean, the victim a favour by burning it. So I went over and shoved it under her door.'

Lucius nodded his approval. 'Excellent reasoning.'

This acknowledgement of her mental faculties had the same effect as water poured on a Jericho Rose. Hermione suddenly seemed to take up twice as much space as before. 'Thank you.'

'And now,' Lucius said, 'you've come here because you thought that what happened once might easily happen again, and the person discovering Severus's, well let us say occupation, might react in a somewhat different manner.'

'Yes.' She was sitting there, both hands around her cup, and looking at him as if he were her personal knight in shining armour. It was entrancing in its very own way, and since Lucius had plans for his visitor, he thought that giving in to the temptation of sweet innocence was likely to further his own intentions. 'And you want to warn him off,' he ventured.

'That's what I meant to do when I met him at Gringotts. The way he reacted though… I don't think I'd stand much of a chance, even if I knew where to find him. So I thought that maybe you…'

Catching the longing glance she was giving the fruit cake, Lucius signalled to Drippy to serve her a slice. 'You are of course familiar with the saying about the pot and the kettle?'

'Meaning what?' Her mouth full of fruit cake, she frowned at him.

'My dear Hermione, you may know about me what everybody knows, but rest assured that Severus knows a lot more. Now, I may have mended my ways, but I very much doubt that Severus is going to take any advice from me.'

She raised her hand holding the fork and almost got it stuck in her hair. 'But there's nobody else who could do it! At least nobody I know.'

Time to haul in the net. Gently though, the fish he'd caught wasn't about to be eaten but tamed and put into an aquarium. 'Hermione, I want to be very frank with you. I'm at a loss as to what I could do or say to convince Severus. We've known each other for a long time, but there are certain sides of him I'm sure I'm not familiar with. You seem to be a very perspicacious young woman – would you consider giving me the benefit of your expertise?'

'I don't really know… You mean because he used to be my teacher? Do you think I might tell you something useful?'

Lucius inclined his head to hide a look of extreme satisfaction – it always paid to let people persuade themselves, because they unfailingly found the better arguments. 'That is exactly what I was about to suggest. Unfortunately, I have an important appointment this morning, which I can't postpone. Would you be free for dinner tonight?'

A long pause followed; Lucius was starting to berate himself for being an idiot who'd completely lost his grip, when she said, 'I… I think that could be arranged.'

'How delightful. Would you rather dine out or here at the Manor?'

She cocked her head. 'Maybe here at the Manor would give us more privacy? For exchanging confidential information I mean.'

'I'm sure it would. Would eight p.m. suit you?'

'Yes. Eight is fine. Is there' – her eyes met his in complete innocence – 'a dress code or anything?'

A fig leaf, not too large, he thought and said aloud, 'No, no dress code at all. Just an informal dinner between… allies.'


	3. Chapter 3

PART FIVE – Wherein Lucius Malfoy uses an Unforgivable, and Severus Snape is invited to dinner

PART FIVE – Wherein Lucius Malfoy uses an Unforgivable, and Severus Snape is invited to dinner

The wards were as vicious as a rattlesnake with a stomach ulcer, but, as Lucius noticed with a smile, had been programmed to let him pass through. The goodbye hadn't been final, then, although he hadn't seen Severus or received one single word from him in the six months since he'd handed him the keys. He spelled the door open and stepped into the flat.

Severus had obviously gone out, and Lucius took his time inspecting the place. He shuddered at the thought of living in such a cramped space; Severus, however, had grown up in that disgraceful hovel called Spinner's End, and the Hogwarts dungeons, though certainly not lacking in space, had been a rather oppressive environment. At least this place had large windows and a light, airy feeling to it.

Lucius inspected the bookshelves, treated himself to a brief tour of the kitchen, which doubled as a makeshift brewing space, and then wandered into the bedroom. Still a hermit, he thought, and still celibate – there was no trace of perfume, female lingerie or any of the things betraying the presence, even a short-lived one, of a woman.

He was sitting in an armchair, perusing the latest edition of _The Alchemist_ and sipping a glass of wine, when Severus returned.

'Lucius,' he said, less surprised than annoyed, because the wards had of course told him about his guest's presence, 'what the hell are you doing here?'

'Trying to fight ennui by reading a supremely boring article on the use of Gillyweed in Shielding Potions.'

'You could've brought a book or, even better, stayed at home,' Severus said. He summoned another wineglass for himself and sat down on the sofa, as far away as possible from his visitor. 'So, what did you come to see me about?'

Lucius leaned back in his chair and regarded the other wizard from under half-closed eyelids. 'I had a very interesting dinner guest last night.'

'He, or more likely she, must have been highly interesting indeed, if you Apparated all the way here to tell me the news.'

'Oh, yes, very interesting indeed. You know her, by the way.'

'Lucius, it's been a rather long and busy day, and I was really looking forward to spending a quiet evening.'

'Do you ever spend unquiet evenings?' Lucius took an appreciative sip of wine. 'Are you leading such a busy social life?'

'Don't be ridiculous!'

'I thought so. Although you seem to have discovered an entirely new way of alienating people, or so Miss Granger told me.'

'Miss Granger? How would you know – she wasn't your dinner guest, was she?'

'Do I detect a trace of interest?'

'You don't.' Severus refilled his glass.

'You didn't treat her very well, according to her own version of the facts.'

'I never treated my students well. Ask Draco, if you don't believe me. Oh, I forgot that he's not speaking to you – or have things changed recently?'

'I didn't mean while you were her teacher,' Lucius replied calmly, knowing better than to rise to the bait. 'She informed me that she'd met you at Gringotts, two days ago, if I remember correctly.'

For a moment, the black eyes held a glint of interest. 'I can hardly believe that Miss Granger chose you, of all people, to complain about my admittedly harsh reaction to her unwanted attention.'

'She's quite a formidable young woman,' Lucius said, smiling faintly. 'A diamond in the rough, to be sure, but a little polishing might go a long way.'

'And you, correct me if I'm wrong, intend to do the polishing, don't you?'

'Naïve as she is, she might fall into worse hands than mine.'

'If she actively searched for them, maybe. Otherwise, I don't think so. Lucius' – he leaned forward, elbows on his knees – 'you don't mean to seduce the girl, I hope?'

'Why not? She's quite pretty, in her very own way. And clever, but surely you know that.'

'She's a bloody know-it-all, and a show-off to boot.'

'Was, Severus, was. I remember Draco telling me about her, because he hated coming second to a Muggleborn. Always with her hand in the air, always at least two feet of homework in excess of the required length, always prepared. He resented her a lot. But she seems to have changed, you know. Voldemort's last year of earthly existence has changed all of us, and the part she played wasn't an easy one.'

'That's as may be. But it still doesn't explain how she came to have dinner with you.'

'It's hard to believe,' Lucius continued, entirely disregarding Severus's words, 'that a girl of her, well, qualities, formed a short and predictably disastrous relationship with the youngest Weasley boy.'

'Lucius, I'm not a patient man, as you well know. I'm neither interested in your dalliances with girls half your age, or less than half in this case, nor in relationships between adolescents.'

Lucius merely smiled and twirled the stem of his glass between his fingers. 'Do you reckon that Ronald Weasley, or any Weasley come to think of it, might possibly possess any skills in bed?'

'I repeat, for the last time, I'm not interested-'

'The poor girl was convinced she was frigid,' Lucius interrupted him, 'because he'd told her so. And you know what? She went to buy Aqua Maenadia, merely to, as she put it, be less disappointing. Can you imagine?'

'Aqua – But that's an illegal potion!'

'Yes, and she's a Gryffindor – can you even begin to picture her desperation? Just over eighteen, her first sexual experience, and she goes to Borgin & Burkes to acquire an illegal potion?' He shook his head and tsk-ed. 'What has the world come to?'

Now he did have Severus's attention. 'Borgin hasn't sold any Aqua Maenadia lately, I'm positive. Are you saying the old scoundrel is cheating me out of my profit?'

'Not exactly, no, although I wouldn't put it past old Borgin. But no, she didn't buy it in the end. Because, you see, she was so shocked that she left without purchasing it. On the bright side, she dumped the Weasley dolt, so there certainly is a positive aspect to her having seen you.'

Brows drawn together and the lines bracketing his mouth deepening, Severus crossed his arms and gave Lucius a hard stare. 'She saw me?'

'She did, and that's just the beginning. Severus, it seems you're losing your touch, dear friend.'

'I'm afraid I don't quite understand.'

'Last night, while we were having dinner, she told me the story about your old Potions textbook. The one with the annotations, property of he Half Blood Prince – does that ring a bell?'

'It certainly does, but I still fail to see the connection.'

'Miss Granger, or Hermione as I'm privileged enough to call her, has an excellent memory. It seems that you altered one component of the Aqua Maenadia in your textbook and noted the new, improved list of ingredients on the index of available potions you left with Borgin. Can you see the connection now?'

Severus exhaled sharply through his teeth. 'That little…'

'Don't call her names, Severus, merely because she's a clever girl and outwitted you.'

'And now she's going to use the information against me, I presume.'

'Severus, Severus. Why do you think she came to see me instead of going to the Aurors? If she wanted to blackmail you, she wouldn't have told even me. But then, dear friend, not everybody has that annoying little habit of bartering secrets for money. I must say I'm disappointed – not only is it highly risky, it's also immoral in a rather dirty, not to say disgusting way.'

'How dare you,' Severus began but was interrupted by Lucius, who seemed suddenly to have dropped the mask of bonhomie.

'Blackmail, Severus,' he growled. 'The lowest form of crime. It's vile, inelegant and most of all, it's not Slytherin – not the way you went about it. We don't do that kind of blackmail, Severus, because we'd have ceased to exist a long time ago, if we did. Do not unto others and all that. What can you gain by selling compromising memories to people, for heaven's sake? A few hundred galleons, and the fear that a slip of a girl might sell her secret to the highest bidder, and unless you're prepared for serious trouble, that would have to be you!'

Averting his gaze, Severus mutely shook his head. Lucius got up from his chair and went over to the window. Staring out into the neon-lit evening, he continued more calmly, 'You have no idea how lucky you've been so far. I'm sure you didn't know Hermione lives next door to Philippa Westkin, or did you? In Harry-bloody-Potter's house!' His question was met by silence. 'You of all people ought to be aware how the tiniest, most outlandish incident can lead to the most devastating consequences. The owl you sent the Westkin woman was sick, so the girl took it into the house with her to have a look at it, and lo and behold, she recognized your handwriting on the letter. After she'd spotted you delivering potions to Borgin, she got curious and opened it.' He turned around to look at Severus. 'What on earth were you thinking?'

'A few hundred galleons may be nothing to you, Lucius. But they mean a lot to me.'

Lucius sighed. 'Go and get dressed. You're coming to dinner, and Hermione will be there as well.'

'Get lost, Lucius. I don't need you, and I certainly don't mean to waste my time having dinner with you and Miss Granger. Your hypocritical moralizing is bad enough, but that little swot actually means it – I don't need to be lectured on how to lead my life by an ingénue and a cynical fraud.

'You will do as you're told, Severus. For your own good. Had I known how far gone you are, I would have come here earlier, believe me.'

'Fuck off, you arrogant bastard, and don't you ever dare show your face-'

'_Imperio_!' Lucius had drawn his wand so quickly that Severus hadn't stood a chance. 'Go get dressed for dinner.' He stepped closer to the other wizard, who was hoisting himself out of his chair with an air of absentminded befuddlement, and bent down to peer at him. 'Come to think of it, have a shower first, and wash your hair while you're at it. Allez, off you go.'

When Severus had obediently trudged off to the bathroom, Lucius refilled his wineglass and waited patiently for his friend's return. He hadn't felt so chipper in months. Last night, at dinner with Hermione, he'd drunk a few glasses of wine, and he'd allowed himself a small cognac to accompany his coffee. Today, he'd got up at eight, feeling well rested and refreshed; he'd sent the girl an owl announcing his intention to go and see Severus later in the day, and invite him for dinner. Her answer had arrived half an hour later – in her enthusiasm, she'd spattered the parchment with ink. That enthusiasm… it might translate well into sex, he thought. To be sure, the Weasley boy had lit fires he hadn't quite managed to extinguish. Even the clumsiest man could light such a fire. Tonight, he'd try a chaste goodbye kiss if the occasion presented itself.

PART SIX – Wherein Hermione Granger experiences a déjà-vu and gets an unexpected, but by no means unwelcome kiss

'Did he accept the invitation?' Hermione asked breathlessly when Lucius came to greet her in the entrance hall.

'In a manner of speaking.' He took her hand and kissed it. 'You are, as they say, a sight for sore eyes, Hermione. I must confess I'm a little jealous – you didn't make quite such an effort yesterday.'

She blushed and smiled. 'I just tried to look a bit more grown-up, so Professor Snape wouldn't see me as a student. I'm sure he will anyway, but at least I'll feel better telling him off for it.'

'A most admirable thought.' He offered her his arm. 'I like what you've done with your hair. You look like a Greek statue.'

'I had to use two bottles of Sleekeazy to get it right.' She fingered the low chignon. 'It doesn't feel like my hair at all. I wish…' She didn't finish her sentence and merely cast a wistful look at her host's straight blond mane.

Lucius patted her hand. 'Straight hair wouldn't suit you. But I'm sure there are better products than Sleekeazy – would you like me to introduce you to Maître Belcheveu? He does love a challenge – he's completely gay and not my type at all, so I tend to avoid him, but he does wonders for women.'

'I don't think I could afford him. But thanks anyway.'

Deciding to let the matter rest for the moment – Gryffindors, he knew, could get terribly touchy when it came to exchanging favours – and opened the door to the small dining room. 'Severus? Our guest is here.'

'Oh, please don't bother to get up,' Hermione said to Severus, who'd already half-risen from his chair. Severus obediently flopped back down. 'Is he all right?' she asked Lucius, who'd released her arm.

'Oh yes.' He went to pour himself a whisky. 'What would you like to drink, Hermione?'

'I really liked the champagne you gave me yesterday.'

'Excellent. Drippy, fetch the champagne!'

'What's the matter with him?' Hermione mustered her former teacher as unobtrusively as possible. 'He seems awfully quiet.'

'He's under Imperius.' Drippy brought the bottle and uncorked it, so Lucius could pour a glass for his shocked guest.

'Under… You didn't… But they'll come for you! Oh, Mr Malfoy, you shouldn't have – I'll give you an alibi of course, since you did it for a good cause, but if they make me take Veritaserum…'

He handed her the flute, taking advantage of her flustered state gently to lay a hand on her nape. The skin was very soft and hot. 'My dear girl, your readiness to lie for my sake does you credit, but you needn't worry. There is such a thing as unregistered wands. Have a sip of champagne' – his thumb lightly caressed her neck – 'and calm down.' The sight of the gooseflesh puckering the skin of her arms gave him immense satisfaction. He let his hand glide down her upper arm and to her waist, exerting the lightest of pressures to steer her towards Severus's chair. 'Should we set him free?' he murmured, bending down until his mouth almost touched her hair.

'It seems only fair, doesn't it? Poor Professor Snape, he must be terribly angry.'

Severus smiled up at her. 'Not at all. Lucius told me to be nice and behave myself. I'm very happy to see you, Miss Granger.'

'That's scary,' she muttered, instinctively leaning into Lucius.

'Yes, isn't it? I'm sure he's going to be a lot scarier, if more in character, once I lift the spell.'

Hermione drew her wand. 'Better be prepared then.'

'I said it yesterday, and I feel compelled to repeat it: there isn't a single ounce of mercy in you, my dear.'

Her face went beet red. 'I didn't mean… I know you're able to defend yourself, Mr Malfoy!'

'I, on the other hand, am sure you meant to defend me. Come to think of it, that's a capital offence. So you'll have to call me Lucius, to make up for it. And put away your wand, Hermione. I assure you, I can take care of myself.'

When Hermione had accepted the second invitation to dinner at Malfoy Manor, she'd prepared a lot of speeches she was going to make to Professor Snape. Some of them had been quite good, if she said so herself. What she had, however, not been prepared for was a pre-dinner duel. She stood, transfixed and barely able to duck ricocheting spells, her eyes riveted to the two men as they fired hexes at each other. A part of her brain registered that none of them used anything worse than a Bat Bogey hex, and that Drippy ought to have faster reflexes, because he (she?) was having a hard time holding on to the frothing champagne bottle after being hit by a stray Tarantallegra hex.

In the end, Lucius won – Hermione was sure the duel would've gone on for hours, had he not been on his home turf. The full body bind he apparently misfired had been directed at a mirror with the utmost precision, so that it ricocheted and hit Professor Snape squarely in the back.

Lucius nonchalantly stepped over his petrified adversary and opened one of the windows, to lean on the sill and let the night air cool his face. 'Nothing like a duel to work up an appetite,' he remarked to Hermione, who was still standing against the wall, motionless. She was quite pale, he noticed, and the skin of her throat and cleavage bore hectic red blotches. Lucius reached out for her. When she reluctantly took his hand, he drew her against his side. 'You're not afraid, are you?' He stroked up and down her back. 'You're shaking, poor girl. Have another – what on earth happened to the bottle?'

She explained about the hex, and Lucius was glad to see she was laughing again. Drippy, who'd spilled most of the champagne all over him(her?)self and thus was doing his name justice, was sent off to fetch another bottle. It arrived at lightning speed, and Lucius poured another glass for Hermione. 'Better now?' he asked, putting his arm around her shoulders.

She nodded. 'Much better, yes.' Another shiver went through her body, and Lucius pulled her a little closer. 'I was just… I really don't mean to bring up the past, Mr, erm, Lucius, because we're on the same side now. But my memories are right here in my head, and I can't just make them go away. Normally I cope quite well, but your fight reminded me…'

His hand cautiously exploring the delightful curve of her waist and hip, Lucius bent down and pressed a gentle kiss on her forehead. 'I know.' He straightened up, just enough that he could look into her eyes. What he saw there encouraged him to lower his head again, this time to kiss her lips. 'And now,' he said, 'let us release Severus.'

PART SEVEN – Wherein Hermione Granger demonstrates how not to make dinner conversation

Dinner was awkward, to put it mildly. Hermione, aware that the man she still thought of as Professor Snape had merely stayed because Lucius had made him promise at wandpoint, didn't quite know how to talk to him. So she had the choice between not talking at all, or talking to Lucius.

She would have liked to talk to Lucius, in spite of being terminally confused about the kiss, but talking to Lucius, with Professor Snape as a taciturn third, would seem as if she meant to exclude Professor Snape, which she didn't. Not talking to Lucius while trying to talk to Professor Snape would give Lucius the impression that she didn't want to talk to him because he'd kissed her, which was certainly not the idea she wanted to get across. She'd liked the kiss, incomprehensible though that was, and if she was completely honest with herself, she wanted at least one, if not a lot more of those kisses. Not quite as chaste as the first one, if possible.

Professor Snape wasn't looking at anybody; he was eating quietly with an expression of introverted intensity on his pale, drawn face, and drinking too much. Lucius seemed to be enjoying himself; whether that was due to the kiss or having bested Professor Snape in a duel she wasn't quite sure. In the end Hermione decided that she had to start talking, because if she didn't, her mind certainly wouldn't stop spitting out images of more kisses, and kisses leading to foreplay – not that she'd had any experience with foreplay, not with Ron, but she'd read about it, and it had sounded very nice indeed – and foreplay leading to sex with her having lots of orgasms and not being frigid at all.

Unfortunately, her mind didn't seem willing to leave the realm of steamy and rather arousing fantasies, which meant that she couldn't think of anything to say. Or rather, of anything that didn't involve words and phrases completely unsuited to dinner conversation. It was a dilemma, if ever she'd seen one.

In her desperation, she finally blurted out, 'This Dover sole is perfectly cooked, Lucius. Isn't it, Professor Snape?'

Severus slowly raised his eyes from his plate. 'I doubt whether anybody could have come up with a more insipid and nonsensical remark after spending half an hour thinking what to say.'

'That wasn't what I was thinking about, not all the time at least.' She met his eyes and was suddenly dizzy with images whirling through her head.

'Truthful as always.' Severus smirked and lifted his glass to her. 'The Dover sole was most definitely not on your mind.'

Hermione felt her face go hot. 'You cold have asked before you entered my thoughts.'

'Would you have allowed it?'

'Of course not, that's exactly my point.'

Seeing Hermione's angry discomfort and Severus's sardonic smirk, Lucius decided that he could still make it up to the girl later – right now Severus was talking, which was more than he'd hoped for. Besides, Gryffindors adored sacrificing themselves. 'What were you thinking about?' he asked Hermione.

She nearly dropped her cutlery. 'Just… erm, that this was a very quiet meal,' she said.

'If you mean to tell a lie, Miss Granger, you ought to aim at verisimilitude,' Severus said. 'A convincing lie always contains a maximum amount of truth. So you ought to have said, for example, that you were thinking about-'

'Don't!' she interrupted him furiously. 'You have absolutely no right to tell Lucius! It's bad enough that you saw… what you saw,' she finished rather lamely.

'Bad?' His eyebrows rose. 'You seemed to enjoy it quite a lot. Without the aid of any illegal potion.'

Hands shaking with fury, Hermione stared at Severus out of narrowed eyes. 'That was mean, and it was completely unnecessary, Prof- Mr Snape. And if you want to humiliate me, all right, do it. Tell Lucius what you saw in my mind. Go on, tell him!' Severus opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. 'Well? I gave you my permission, why don't you tell him? Or are you going to sell me the memory?'

Lucius winced and discreetly moved his left hand to make sure he could draw his wand instantly. Severus's expression certainly warranted the precaution; it had gone from incredulous to outraged to murderous within a second.

'You insolent brat,' Severus said, his voice not much more than a whisper.

'You already called me that. You'll have to do better, if you want to insult me.'

'You disgusting, arrogant little hussy. You dare claim the moral high ground? You have the guts to judge me?'

'I'm not judging you. But I think somebody ought to tell you that what you're doing is wrong.'

'Wrong. So you would be the moral authority here?'

She was feeling so sick with fear and bravery that she had trouble keeping down what she'd eaten so far. Her mouth was dry, and her hands felt clammy. 'I know that blackmailing people is wrong, Professor. That doesn't make me a moral authority. And I'm not saying that you're a bad person, because I don't believe that you are. But making Mrs Westkin pay for something her husband had done was bad. She had to borrow five galleons from me, because she couldn't do the grocery shopping. And she had to pay you, or the Ministry would've cancelled her pension. If at least it had been somebody with money, I'd… I mean I still wouldn't think it was right, especially if the victim wasn't even guilty…'

Severus's fist hit the table. 'They are _not_ victims!' he bellowed.

'Of course they are. Only there are victims who deserve it, and those who don't. Anyway, I still think you ought to leave punishment to the authorities – people taking the law into their own hands seldom works, in the long run I mean. Justice and personal feelings don't go together very well.' She picked up her wineglass, wishing that her hands didn't tremble quite so much, and emptied it in one go.

'There is no such thing as justice,' Severus said after a while, his voice oddly flat. 'If there was…'

Hermione impulsively put her hand over his. 'You see, that's something I can understand. If there was justice, you ought to have received an Order of Merlin First Class, and you ought to have drowned in job offers. And people would have thanked you, publicly, instead of turning their backs on you. The treatment they gave you was vile, absolutely unforgivable. But' – she let go of his hand and met his eyes – 'by doing what you did you justified their opinion of you.'

'I won't be lectured by a slip of a girl,' he bit out.

'Maybe,' Lucius put in, 'we could move on to the main course? Morals always make me hungry.'

Hermione smiled at him. 'That explains why you don't seem to have an ounce of fat on you.'

He would have liked to kiss her then, but Severus was looking at her in a very strange way, and so he merely glared at Drippy who sped off to the kitchens.


	4. Chapter 4

PART EIGHT – Wherein Harry Potter strongly doubts Hermione's sanity

PART EIGHT – Wherein Harry Potter strongly doubts Hermione's sanity

After Voldemort's fall, the Three Young Heroes (epithet courtesy of the _Daily Prophet_) had not only received Orders of Merlin First Class, accolades and numerous offers of jobs, marriage and eternal friendship. The Ministry had also granted each of them a lifelong pension, which would have allowed them a comfortable life, even if they'd chosen not to work. This, and Headmistress McGonagall's offer that they sit their N.E.W.T.s together with Ginny's year but study for them on their own had given them what they'd needed most: time and privacy. The past was still haunting them, and the future seemed both immense and frightening. Some of their peers felt the same, but for the majority the seventh year was all about sex, studying for the N.E.W.T.s and making plans. They wouldn't have fitted in, with their nightmares, their fears and their need to talk it all over again and again.

Since none of the three had any idea as of yet what to do after school, Harry had very reasonably pointed out that, whatever it was they'd decide to do, there was no need to waste their money; Grimmauld Place was his, and although not very homey, the house was big enough to grant them sufficient privacy even if all three of them lived there.

So they'd set about renovating the building – they had to hire professionals, as they couldn't do it all by themselves, if they meant to move in while still young enough to climb the stairs – and once the junk Harry wanted to keep had been moved to the attic, the walls painted white and the dusty old carpets, curtains and sofas thrown out, no. 12 Grimmauld Place was ready to be furnished and turned into a home.

Ron had insisted that he and Hermione move into common quarters, but she had firmly declined. Unlike the two boys, dormitory life had never really suited her, and so she'd been looking forward to having her own, private living space. This dream had become something of an obsession during the year she'd spent in a tent with the two boys, and she had no intention of renouncing it, merely because Ron thought they ought to live as a couple.

When she'd dumped Ron, he'd packed his belongings and returned to The Burrow. He hadn't taken the break-up well at all, in spite of the frequent rows they'd had about pretty much every issue, from politics to sex, from dividing household chores equally to the seemingly unavoidable problem with the toothpaste tube. Ron had always insisted that being in love was all that mattered, while Hermione had argued that love wasn't going to flourish, if he expected her to wash his socks.

Harry, whose peace of mind and emotional recovery hinged on the trio being together – sometimes Hermione had felt that she and Ron were staying together only because of him, just like some couples who didn't divorce "because of the children" – had been sad to see Ron leave. He had, however, let himself be convinced, albeit reluctantly, that everyday domestic life was going to run a lot more smoothly with just the two of them than with three people in the house two of whom didn't speak to each other. Besides, Harry was always welcome at The Burrow and able to spend time with Ron whenever he wanted. When Hermione had finally hinted that maybe Ginny would like to move in with them, a happy smile had lit his face, and he'd hugged her.

Negotiations with Mrs Weasley had just begun – the Easter holidays weren't far away, and Hermione, whose Slytherin side Harry couldn't but admire, had explained to her friend that the formidable Molly might be more easily talked into letting her daughter spend a few days at Grimmauld Place than she'd accept Ginny moving in completely once she'd sat her N.E.W.T.s. If Ginny returned to Hogwarts after the Easter break alive and healthy and un-pregnant, Hermione had argued, and if she finished school with an acceptable N.E.W.T.s result, persuading her mother to let her live with Harry afterwards was going to be so much easier.

Right now, though, there were only the two of them living in the big old house, and Hermione, returning home from Malfoy Manor, wasn't quite sure how to break the news to Harry. She mentally cursed herself for not having Apparated at some distance from Grimmauld Place and thus given herself time to think about the best way to tell Harry about Snape and Malfoy, because he shot out of the library as soon as he heard the door close.

'Hey,' he said, 'that's the second night you're home so late. N.E.W.T.s are going to be in three months' time – you ought to be up in your room, studying.' Then he looked at her more closely, shook his head and raked a hand through his hair. 'You, erm, have…' He made a vague gesture. 'Dressed up,' he finally said.

Hermione decided to take the bull by the horns – half-truths and tiptoeing around the issue weren't going to help. 'I had dinner with Professor Snape and Lucius Malfoy.'

'Very funny,' Harry said, still chuckling, when he'd finished laughing.

'Actually it wasn't. Professor Snape isn't very well. It was rather… exhausting, to tell the truth. But the food was wonderful.' So was the kiss, but she wasn't about to tell Harry anything about Lucius's very obvious interest in her, not only because of his rather predictable reaction, but also because she needed to do a bit of soul-searching first. She wasn't quite sure how to handle herself. 'I'd like to talk to you about Professor Snape. I think we ought to help him.' Harry was still staring at her, his mouth open. 'Come on, let's sit in the library for a bit, unless you're too tired, that is.'

'That's… That's… You're taking the piss, aren't you?'

'No, I'm not.' She hung up her cloak and went towards the library. 'Well, are you coming, or are you going to stay out in the entrance hall all night?'

He trudged into the library after her and fell into a chair. 'Hermione, you're completely serious, aren't you?'

'Of course I am.' She spotted the half-full bottle of red wine next to Harry and summoned a glass from the kitchen. 'If I really wanted to wind you up,' she remarked while filling her glass, 'I'd have thought of something really funny.'

'It's not that funny anymore,' he said, 'now that I know it's the truth. Did you say Malfoy Manor?'

'That's what I said. Look, Harry' – she sat down on a settee, chucked off her shoes and pulled up her legs – 'I know you've had enough of people telling you that you have to believe and trust them, even if they don't tell you the whole truth. I wish I could tell you everything, and maybe I will, but not before we've brought this unpleasant matter to a satisfactory conclusion.'

'You aren't in any danger?' Harry asked slowly, his face so full of worry and anxiety that Hermione got up to give him a quick hug.

'No,' she said and kissed the top of his head. 'I swear I'm not in danger.' She returned to her settee and leaned back into the cushions.

'All right. And…' He fiddled with his glass. 'I'm sorry I'm asking you this, but are you involved in anything dark? I mean, if you dine with Malfoy…' He shot her an apologetic glance.

'No, no. Nothing dark or dangerous. And I'm of course going to tell you what it is all about, but only in the broadest possible terms. But that's just to protect Professor Snape's privacy.'

'What has the old bat done now?' Harry said, frowning. 'Come to think of it,' he continued after a short pause, 'it's a bit strange – nobody saw him or heard from him since he left St. Mungo's. Do you think we ought to have… you know, visited him or something?'

Hermione shrugged. 'I honestly don't know. Maybe we should have, but I doubt he would have reacted kindly. Harry' – she leaned forward, looking straight into her friend's eyes – 'he's so very miserable. He lives… He doesn't live in the wizarding world, but he didn't leave it completely. I mean, he does have dealings with us, but he made such a mess of it.' She took a pensive sip of wine. 'He's bitter, and disappointed. He's full of hate. I came to know about his, well, troubles, by mere chance, and since I couldn't think of anybody I could turn to without, uh, endangering him, I went to see Lucius. Er, Mr Malfoy.'

'Just like that? You mean, you went there and told him Snape was in trouble and you needed his help? You've got balls, Hermione. Balls of steel. I don't know whether I'd have the guts to go to that house…' He shuddered.

'It wasn't easy, believe me. I wasn't sure if I could face the memories.' Her forefinger traced the almost invisible scar on her throat. 'Anyway, I knew that Lucius wouldn't dare harm a hair on my head, so I was rather calm as far as he was concerned. And the rest – I didn't go to the Manor to face the past, but I had to face the past when I was there, and I think it helped. Somehow. I don't know how, I'll have to think about it, but somehow the memory has lost its horror. Maybe because Lucius is so changed – I'm sure he's been drinking a lot, I know the signs. His wife is divorcing him, and Draco is gone… he seems quite lonely.'

'Hermione, I know you're the sort of person who sees the best in everybody. But are you sure, I mean really sure, Malfoy won't harm you? At least be careful, please. Don't underestimate him.'

'I don't. And I'm not saying that we're friends or anything. At the moment we're allies, I guess, because he really likes Professor Snape and he was quite shocked when I told him.' She smiled fleetingly at the memory. 'It was almost funny, you know – he went to see Professor Snape earlier this evening, and he'd sent me an owl inviting me to dinner, and Professor Snape was going to be there as well. Anyway, Professor Snape didn't come willingly, and so Lucius had to use Imperio to make him come to dinner.'

'Didn't you say it was funny?'

'Erm, well it was, in a strange kind of way. When Lucius took off the curse, they duelled.'

'Your sense of humour,' Harry said, 'seems a bit out of kilter. Who won, by the way?'

'Lucius did. And then' – she drank some wine to hide her blush – 'we had dinner. Oh, Harry, it was the most embarrassing, cringe-with-discomfort scene I've ever been in. Total silence, nobody said a word – you know, when everybody just eats and looks down on his plate, trying not to make any noise with the cutlery. The kind of silence that makes you wish you could just spontaneously combust. I can't stand it, and so I said something… I put my foot in big time, of course.'

Harry snorted. 'Of course. Did you make a remark about Elfish Welfare?'

'Erm, no. About the fish, actually. But at least we got Professor Snape to talk. He insulted me, needless to say.'

'Know-it-all?'

'Worse. But I gave back as good as I'd got, and by the time we were eating the pudding, we actually managed to have a conversation.'

'So,' Harry said, 'what's this trouble Snape is in? Did he do anything illegal?'

'Well, yes. Not Death-Eater illegal, but still something he might go to Azkaban for. And he did it in such a stupid, clumsy way – that's what I still can't understand. It's as if he wanted to be caught.'

'Caught and punished?'

'Something like that. It's a shame how he's been treated, really. But I think – he's been leading this completely isolated life, you know, with nobody to talk to, I think things might have taken on a life of their own in his head.'

'Are you saying he's…' Harry tapped his temple. 'You know, bonkers?'

'No, I'm sure he isn't. I meant… People still seem to think of him as a villain-'

'He did kill Professor Dumbledore,' Harry interrupted her. 'I still can't forgive him, and I've seen his memories. I know he didn't want to. And I'm sure he did what he could while he was headmaster – just think what would've happened to Ginny, if he hadn't…' He swallowed. 'What I mean is, just look at him. He looks like a total bastard, and he's always behaved like a total bastard. Of course nobody likes him.'

'That's exactly what I'm saying. I think he must have internalized the general opinion, plus he's gone through so much… He does resent the injustice of it all, he said so himself, but I have this impression that he also wants people to hate him, because he hates himself.'

'And so,' Harry said thoughtfully, 'he does something illegal and, whoops, he's right and everybody else is right, and he doesn't have to struggle anymore. Is that it?'

Hermione nodded enthusiastically. 'I couldn't have expressed it better. But it's such a shame, Harry. We, I mean everybody, not just us, we owe him so much. I don't think he's a bastard, just lonely and miserable, and he doesn't know what to do with himself. Just imagine – he had a job before, even though he didn't like it, and his life had a purpose, and suddenly it's all gone! We felt it too, didn't we, and it was awful during the first months, but we had each other, and he didn't have anybody.'

'I thought you said he and Malfoy are friends. Why didn't Malfoy do anything?'

'He said… It doesn't have to be true, mind you, but somehow I think it is. He said that he was so busy picking up the pieces of his own life that he didn't really think about Professor Snape. He thought he just needed time for himself and to be left in peace, like everybody, but that he'd come round.' She shrugged. 'Anyway, now he's ready to help.'

'And do you have any idea how to go about it?'

'Not really. Do you think…' She bent forward, hands in her lap, the fingers interlaced and squeezing so hard they hurt. 'Do you think you would like to help, too? I know I'm asking a lot, because we'd have to talk about it with Mr Malfoy, but…'

Harry wagged his head and took off his glasses. He blinked and looked at Hermione a bit owlishly. 'I'll have to think about it, okay? I'll tell you in the morning. Promise.'

PART NINE – Wherein Lucius Malfoy has an unexpected visitor, whom he likes a lot less than the first one, and an idea is born

Had anybody made a picture of Lucius's face when he saw his second, unexpected visitor the next morning, "Study of a Pickled Lemon" would have been a very good title for it. He did, however, manage to keep his countenance, mostly because Hermione regaled him with a dazzling smile accompanied by a pleading look. 'Mr Potter,' he said, with only the merest hint of ice in his voice. 'Welcome to Malfoy Manor. I presume Hermione has shanghaied you into her project to help Severus?'

Harry, too, was on his best behaviour and took Lucius's hand in a short but firm grip. 'She told me he needed help. He's done a lot for us, all of us, and we didn't even say thank you, so I thought it was only appropriate.' His eyes went wide when Lucius took Hermione's arm and merely threw a careless 'Follow me, please' over his shoulder, but he gritted his teeth and told himself that it was all for the Greater Good.

Coffee and biscuits were served in the morning room, and then Drippy was sent away and told that Lucius wasn't at home for anybody.

'All right,' Hermione said. 'Thanks for seeing us, Lucius. I thought bringing Harry was a good idea, because he might give some valuable input. Have you come up with anything since last night?'

Lucius had indeed come up with a lot of plans, all of which involved dragging Hermione off to bed, and so he merely shook his head. 'It's difficult,' he said finally, 'because Severus is practically allergic to help.'

'He needs a girlfriend,' said Harry, who had received an owl from Ginny early in the morning and was still bathing in her assurances of love eternal.

'That wouldn't solve anything,' Hermione objected. 'Even if we found him one, and I doubt that very much, he's far too… erm, well, involved with himself at the moment. They'd just quarrel, and he'd sink even deeper into his own misery.'

Lucius nodded. 'I agree. A relationship is challenging enough as it is, and Severus doesn't have any strength to spare.' He took a biscuit and munched it thoughtfully. 'Some of the Hogwarts governors still speak to me. I could try and talk to them, and you' – he looked at Harry and Hermione in turn – 'might put in a word with McGonagall.'

'You mean he ought to go back to teaching?' Harry stared at Lucius as if he'd suggested that they try and resurrect Voldemort. 'Are you completely out of your…' Hermione kicked him under the table, and he continued more calmly, 'I mean I don't think that's a good idea. Not only because I wouldn't wish him on the poor students.'

'Lucius has a point though,' Hermione said. 'Going back to teaching would mean continuity. And continuity is commonly regarded as very helpful, if people need to recover from stress.'

'Then Azkaban would be just as well. Lots of continuity there,' Harry said scathingly. 'You must be off your rocker, both of you. He hated teaching! Besides, even if he didn't, what kind of welcome do you think they'd give him? I'm pretty sure that no one has forgotten last year.' He stuffed three biscuits into his mouth, bearing Hermione's glare of disapproval with equanimity, and addressed Lucius. 'What about you? Don't you have, you know, business interests, or business partners or something? Couldn't you try to get him a job?'

'That's what I did as soon as he came out of hospital, and look how well it worked. He might as well have come recommended by Voldemort himself. I'm afraid I didn't do him a favour, although I suppose they'd have rejected him anyway.'

'That's bad.' Hermione, her hair untamed and very much au naturel, tried to pass a hand though the frizzy mop, got stuck halfway and caught Lucius's look of mirth. 'Because,' she continued with as much dignity as she could scrape together under the circumstances, 'I think what he needs most is a job. Does he have money?' The question was directed at Lucius, who shrugged.

'I don't think so. His parents were paupers, who left him nothing. I'm not sufficiently acquainted with the Muggle real estate market to give a reasonable estimate for the value of that place near Manchester he owns. Even if it is worth something, it belonged to his father, whom he hated, so I doubt he would sell it and use the money. Given his love for expensive clothing… Hogwarts doesn't pay its teachers very generously. I doubt there's much left.'

'Well,' Harry said, 'so he does need a job. We know he's good at potions. What else?'

Lucius shook his head in disapproval. 'Saying that Severus is good at potions would be like saying that Bellatrix was a bit eccentric.'

'All right, so he's a potions genius. Only that won't be much help, if nobody gives him a job. What else is he good at?'

'Spying,' Hermione said. 'But since the wizarding world doesn't have anything like MI5…'

'He's just too specialized,' Harry sighed. 'What's the matter, Hermione? You're looking a bit odd.'

'I think I just had an inspiration,' she said slowly, 'but it might be complete bollocks.'

Lucius refilled her coffee cup. 'I suggest you tell us about it anyway.'

'All right.' She gave him a grateful smile – being listened to attentively was a relatively new experience. 'There's this thing in the Muggle world called NGO, Non-Governmental Organization. Some of them are very powerful.'

'Like Voldemort and his followers?' Lucius put in helpfully.

'No, that's terrorists. Muggles have those, too, but they're not generally held in very high esteem. NGOs, on the other hand, enjoy very high prestige – basically they take over tasks the governments ought to fulfil themselves but can't or won't. Take looking after the poor for example: even in a welfare state the government can't – or in some cases doesn't want to – reach them all, because anything a government does has to be based on laws, and laws just can't take individual cases into consideration. NGOs, however, can, because they're private. They still have to act within the framework of the law, but there doesn't have to be a law to justify every single of their actions. Plus, they're financed privately, by sponsors and donors. Many of them are smaller and more flexible than governments, so they're also able to react quickly and efficiently.'

'Are you suggesting that we create an NGO taking care of Snape?' Harry asked.

'No, silly!' Lucius inspected his fingernails, grateful that the Potter boy had asked the question. He wouldn't have wanted Hermione to call him silly. 'Tell me, both of you: what has the Ministry for Magic been doing these last nine months to help veterans of the last war? Veterans from both sides, I mean.'

'Er, nothing?' This time Lucius was sure he'd got it right.

Hermione beamed at him. 'Exactly. And now tell me: wouldn't it be in everybody's best interest if these people received help?'

'You mean,' Harry said slowly, 'people who've been stranded since the end of the war, because their memories are still haunting them? It still sounds like an NGO to help Snape.'

'On the contrary!' Hermione stabbed her index finger at Harry, who recoiled. 'On the contrary, Professor Snape would be working _for_ the NGO! Like me and you and… well, maybe Lucius would be happier financing it? Only at the beginning, of course. Later on, people are bound to recognize the merit of our work, and there'll be tons of donations.'

'Severus helping people? My dear Hermione, I'm sure you're trying really hard, but I just don't think it's going to work.'

'Malfoy's right,' Harry said, visibly embarrassed to be agreeing with Lucius.

'You're both wrong, because I'm right.'

'As always,' Harry muttered.

'Shut up, Harry. Listen, both of you. Is there anybody you can think of, who knows as many secrets about practically everybody as Professor Snape?'

'Erm, well…' Lucius began and fell silent.

'Probably not,' Harry said.

'Hah! So he would know exactly who needs help, wouldn't he? In the beginning, he could just draw up lists of people, with information about them and their problems. He could do it in a room all by himself, so that wouldn't be too bad. And then we might tell him about a failure, somebody we couldn't help but made things worse – he's such a perfectionist, don't you think he'd lose his temper sooner or later and step in, merely to prove that we're dunderheads?'

Harry looked at Lucius. Lucius looked at Harry and shrugged. 'Money wouldn't be a problem,' he said. 'If I understand you correctly, we'd need office space – the Manor is at your disposal. And you, Mr. Potter, and Severus and Hermione would be the employees?' Hermione nodded. 'I think I can afford that easily, and if it turned out to be a success, well, the reputation of benefactor of the wizarding world would be more than worth the investment.'

'You wouldn't have to pay Harry or me any salary,' Hermione said, countering Harry's furious stare with a deadly glare of her own. 'Just expenses. The Ministry pays us this pension, and that's more than enough.'

'Mr Potter is quite right to be upset.' Lucius had observed their staring contest and was vastly amused. 'Honesty does have its place, without doubt, although I don't quite know where. But can you be sure I didn't know about your pension? What if I'd known and offered you payment all the same?'

Hermione made a small noise of exasperation. 'Did you know?'

'That's what you ought to have found out in the first place, my dear.'

It wasn't often that Hermione remained speechless for a full minute. Harry still didn't like Lucius Malfoy, but he had to admit that the guy certainly wasn't stupid.

'Erm, yes.' Hermione had to struggle a bit to regain her momentum. 'Anyway, who's going to tell Professor Snape?'

'I think,' Lucius said, 'you ought to leave that to me.'

PART TEN – Wherein Lucius Malfoy shows that he's still a first-rate plotter

Severus didn't look too happy when Lucius came to pay him a visit two days after he'd had dinner at Malfoy Manor. He didn't look any happier when Lucius divested himself of his cloak, made himself comfortable on the sofa and asked for wine and nibbles. 'Have the cellars of Malfoy Manor run out of wine?' he asked surly, putting a bottle and two glasses on the table.

'No nibbles?' Lucius asked. 'No cashew nuts, peanuts, crisps, nachos or miniature pretzels? I certainly won't go as far as asking for caviar canapés or those miniature vol-au-vents I like so much, you know, the ones filled with salmon mousse.'

'You could've brought your own,' Severus muttered, but went to the kitchen to fetch some peanuts and crisps. 'Lucius, your newfound interest in my company is deeply disturbing. What the fuck do you want?'

'I merely want to spend some quality time with a friend I haven't seen in a very long time.'

'You saw me the day before yesterday, remember? You threw me to the lions!'

'Hermione isn't a lion. A cub, maybe, if a rather cantankerous one, I'll give you that. You know,' Lucius said dreamily, 'with a bit of training, she's bound to become a most formidable witch.'

'You already told me that, and you also didn't fail to mention that you intend to train her, although at the time you called it polishing, unless memory fails me.'

'Mmh, yes. I think I will. And I already have a plan.'

'Help us ye gods. Lucius hath a plan.'

'I do indeed. It's an excellent plan, but I'm afraid I'll need your help.'

Severus put down his wineglass and glared at Lucius. 'Listen, Lucius. I don't pretend to like the girl – as a matter of fact I find her absolutely intolerable – but she does, as you rightly observed, have the makings of a formidable witch. Witches, or wizards, as talented as she can be counted on the fingers of one hand. Apart from the talent and the power, she also possesses an innocence and a purity of heart I would hate to see dragged into the dirt, irritating though it may be. You ought to leave her alone.'

'But,' Lucius objected, while carefully selecting a crisp, 'I have already roped her into my newest project. Which is, needless to say, part of the aforementioned plan. So I'm afraid your well-intentioned admonitions are a bit late.'

'Project?' Severus repeated incredulously. 'Last thing I knew, you had decided to invest what remained of your fortune in old cognac and drink yourself to death!'

'If one tries to achieve premature death, dear Severus, a young girl is a much safer and, if I may say so, more pleasant ticket towards that destination.'

'But you mustn't – all right, tell me about that blasted project.'

Lucius gave a brief outline of Hermione's idea, presenting it as his own invention, the sole purpose of which was The Corruption of Hermione Granger. He even managed a particularly satanic bout of laughter when he mentioned that Harry Potter, that paragon of clueless virtue, had swallowed the bait as well. 'But,' he concluded, 'I don't think it can be done without your help. You know best who was involved and in which way, and who therefore might need help.'

'But…' Severus shook his head. 'I don't quite understand. The project as you outlined it really does have merit. I can see that it gives you almost unlimited opportunities to ensnare Miss Granger, but it would still help lots of people, especially if I contributed the necessary information.'

'So?' Lucius replied with a shrug and a sunny smile.

'So I can't quite believe it's as good as it sounds.'

'Why not?' Lucius emptied the wine bottle into his glass. 'I want the girl. If the project helps me regain reputation and influence, who am I to object?'

'Lucius, I know you. You don't do noble. Therefore you certainly do have second thoughts, only I'm not yet able to make out what they are. But I'd bet that, in the end, you'll come out of it all with lily-white hands, while Potter and the Granger girl will have to pick up the pieces and probably end up as the wizarding world's enemies number one.'

'I really don't know what you're talking about.'

'You' – Severus pointed a trembling forefinger at the blond wizard – 'are not going to destroy these young people's lives! As I already said, I don't like Granger, and Potter is the personification of anything I've always hated about Gryffindors, but we both owe them our lives.'

'That's not quite correct,' Lucius said airily, draining his glass and rising from the couch, 'Because you definitely owe your life to me. I can see your point, though.' He snatched his cloak and draped it artistically around his shoulders. 'If, however, you're so convinced I'm going to destroy the Saviours of the Wizarding World, you'll have to do your best to protect them. If you think you can, that is.'

He didn't allow himself to smile until Drippy had closed the entrance door of Malfoy Manor behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

PART ELEVEN – Wherein a business meeting turns into something much more pleasant

PART ELEVEN – Wherein a business meeting turns into something much more pleasant

Hermione was no fool. The meeting between Harry and Lucius had gone surprisingly well, but she knew that speaking to each other civilly had required, on either side, amounts of willpower the two men would be both unable and unwilling to summon up more than once every blue moon. So she wisely didn't ask Harry to accompany her, when she received Lucius's owl informing her about the visit he'd paid his friend and asking her to come to the Manor whenever her time permitted. After two hours of nerve-wrecking remedial potions in the late morning with Harry she felt that she needed something completely different. A Floo call to the Manor later, she Apparated to Wiltshire and hurried through heavy rain up the gravel driveway and into the welcoming warmth of the entrance hall. Much to her surprise, Drippy didn't lead her to one of the salons, but up the stairs to the second floor.

'This is nice,' she stated, turning around herself to inspect Lucius's study after a chaste welcome kiss. 'More intimate. I like it.'

'It's the Inner Sanctum,' Lucius replied, smiling.

'That's exactly what it looks and feels like. One can't always sit on silk upholstery in an impeccable posture. Sometimes one has to kick off one's shoes and snuggle into a comfy chair.'

'You're welcome to do exactly that.'

'You know what, I think I'd like to.' Hermione slipped out of her shoes and sat down in an enormous leather armchair that would have easily accommodated at least another woman of her size. 'Mmh, that feels good. I think I could' – she yawned hugely – 'Sorry, I did fifth-year Potions with Harry, so I'm a little exhausted.'

Lucius, who had been observing her rather fondly, patted her shoulder. 'Maybe you'd like some tea? That ought to restore your energy.'

She smiled up at him. 'If it's not too much trouble.'

'Since I'm not going to prepare it myself, it isn't. Besides' – he cocked his head and mustered her intently – 'you definitely look like a woman in need of chocolate.'

'Do you think so?'

'I'm sure you'll agree once you've had the first bite. Tea and champagne truffles go together so very well…'

Hermione did indeed have to admit he'd been right, once she'd had her first sip of tea, and the first bite of truffle was melting in her mouth. 'That's…' She inhaled deeply and drank more tea. 'That's absolutely heavenly. These chocolates…'

'It's my grandmother's recipe. When I was a child, the promise of her truffles would make me do practically anything.'

'And now?'

'Now I mostly use them on stressed young ladies.'

She made a moue. 'Do you have lots of them?'

'The supply is practically inexhaustible. Just tell me, if you want more.'

'I meant the young ladies.'

'Oh, those. No, the supply of young ladies has been sadly lacking.'

'Well, you're divorced now,' she said, sounding so gruff that Lucius barely resisted the urge to kiss her, and not chastely. 'There'll be hordes of young ladies on your doorstep, panting for truffles, any day now.'

'Would you believe me, dear Hermione, if I told you that I'm not very interested?'

'No.' She selected another chocolate and put it in her mouth in a way that made his body temperature rise considerably. 'Draco always used to brag at school that you had to fight off all the women who were after you. Not to us, I mean to students from Gryffindor, of course, but such things have a way of getting round. Which was probably exactly what he wanted.'

'I've had to fight off quite a lot of women in my lifetime. But that, I think, only proves my point, not being interested that is.'

'Hm.' Hermione looked him over, carefully, from head to toe. 'You never cheated on your wife? Sorry if I'm being indiscreet.'

'Given the direction this conversation is taking, indiscretion seems hard to avoid. And since you're asking: Yes, I was unfaithful to Narcissa a few times.'

'She's very beautiful,' Hermione muttered ruefully.

'She doubtlessly is. I won't deny that I courted her because I was completely besotted with her. But you know – or maybe you don't know, since you're not a pureblood. The old families have very strict rules about courtship. You don't just go out together, or live together, heaven forbid, before you get married. It's all about meeting under the eyes of your parents or some chaperone, and exchanging carefully studied platitudes.'

'Like in those Regency romance novels,' Hermione said pensively. 'All suppressed emotions and lustful looks and hands furtively touching, and such nonsense.'

'More or less, yes. And I assure you it's not nonsense. Or rather it is, but it's taken very seriously. Things are starting to become a little more relaxed though – since Voldemort's defeat, the word pureblood has almost been turned into an invective, and the old families have to loosen up a bit, in order to make the transition to these new times. But when I was young…'

'So you, erm, came to know your wife only after you got married?'

'Yes. And not everything was, well, as I'd imagined it would be.'

'I can hardly picture you being young and naïve.'

'No, you probably can't. It's all to do with pureblood tradition, you see. A Malfoy heir leads a very sheltered existence. And Hogwarts… it may be educational in many ways, but it certainly doesn't prepare you for life.'

'That's true,' Hermione said pensively. 'I mean, I didn't enjoy being called Mudblood, but I was certainly grateful for my Muggle background, even though, once I'd started at Hogwarts, I didn't see too much of Muggle culture. But even going back just for the holidays helped me keep my distance, or maybe impartiality would be a better word. I'm a witch, and I can't imagine being anything else, but I still have my memories of the Muggle world, and I can go there anytime I want, without feeling lost. I'm able to see the strong points and weaknesses of both worlds, and I think it helps.' She refilled her teacup. 'But we've strayed from the interesting topic of the young ladies, Lucius.'

'You do seem to have developed an unhealthy fascination with that topic, yes.'

'You brought it up!'

He bowed his blond head. 'So I did.' Their chairs stood close to each other, and he leaned over to take her hand. 'Come here,' he said.

Heart beating erratically, Hermione rose and let herself be pulled closer and onto his lap. 'What's the,' she began, and then didn't say anything for quite a long while, because the kisses weren't chaste anymore, nor were his hands that deftly found their way to her skin, nor were the noises she made when his clever fingers had sneaked under the lace of her bra. 'It's bright daylight,' she said shakily, when he rose and took her arm.

'If that's your only objection, my dear,' he said, opening the door for them.

PART TWELVE – Wherein Hermione talks about sex

It was dark already, and the room was lit only by two candles; the duvet covering Lucius and Hermione looked like a mysterious small desert with dunes and shadowy chasms.

'Why,' Hermione said, snuggling closer to Lucius, 'do people always claim that sex isn't important?'

'Sour grapes, I suppose.' He kissed her leisurely, her mouth, her throat and her breasts, and felt her body tense against his. 'Once more before dinner?'

Her hands roaming his body, mapping it and learning its reactions, Hermione tried to order her thoughts and put them into words. 'It makes me feel grown up,' she finally said.

'What does, my sweet?'

'Sex. I mean, this kind of sex. Good sex. It's… liberating, and it's giving me such a strong sense of being myself. Maybe…' She let a strand of long, blond hair slide through her fingers. 'Maybe I haven't been thinking of myself quite in the right way so far.'

Lucius smiled into the warm skin of her stomach. 'You mean all brains and no body?'

'Something like that, yes. All work and no play, too. And with Ron…' She snorted. 'I always felt that – god, I really shouldn't say this aloud, and especially not to you!'

His mouth still caressing her stomach, while his hand parted her legs, Lucius murmured, 'We can only judge by comparison, my dear. Even if it's a little unfair.'

'It certainly is. But the problem with Ron was, I guess he didn't really like my body. Not just mine, specifically. A woman's body in general.'

'I can't really agree, unless you're saying he's gay. Every eighteen-year-old boy likes women's bodies. As a matter of fact, they scarcely ever think of anything else. Not that it changes much with age, mind you.'

She laughed, and yelped when his fingers reached their destination. 'I'm sure they like to look at pictures of naked women. So did Ron, of course. But when it comes to having sex, it's as if… I felt as if I was some kind of highly complex toy, which didn't come with a user manual, and when he didn't understand how to use it at the first try, he just lost interest. Worse, he told me it was my fault.'

'I often think,' Lucius said, while his lips were moving downwards to join his hand, so that his next words came out with many interruptions, 'that the old tradition of engaging an experienced woman of, well, dubious reputation to train young men in the amatory arts wasn't all wrong. Girls your age just lack the necessary self-assurance to tell a boy what to do, when and how to do it and which body part to use. Because' – he came up after successful completion of his task and moved on top of her – 'unfortunately you don't come equipped with detailed instructions, and if you're too shy to ask for exactly the things you want, it takes a lot of time and experience to find out. For example, I'm pretty sure you'd like to go on top now, wouldn't you?'

'Er, yes. As a matter of fact I would.'

He rolled onto his back, pulling Hermione with him. 'Next time, just tell me.'

'Next time?' She smiled down at him, busy getting herself into position.

'If you want there to be a next time.' He lent her a helping hand, very much in his own interest. 'But,' he continued, a little short of breath because she was a very fast learner indeed, 'you will, of course, have to tell me.'

PART THIRTEEN – Wherein Severus Snape compares two Gryffindor witches, without any discernible result

Since he'd returned to his flat after his not quite voluntary outing to Malfoy Manor, Severus had been feeling decidedly out of sorts.

There was more than one reason for having chosen a life of solitude and isolation, and one of them was the fear – unspoken, never admitted and very much repressed – that human contact might generate self-doubt. He'd been aware right from the beginning that, while making illegal potions was against the law and might lead to problems in the long run, at least the people who purchased the brews did so of their own volition. But blackmail… He'd never used the word, and he'd never thought of the people as victims, by the simple expedient of downsizing them to mere business partners, but deep down he'd been aware that it was exactly as Lucius had said. The basest kind of crime.

For as long as he'd been able to keep this knowledge deeper down than even his subconscious, he'd also been able to go on. Now, however, it was all out in the open. By confronting him, the Granger girl had broken through his defensive mechanisms and, as if she'd lifted a stone and exposed the creepy-crawlies living underneath to the sunlight that killed them, his ability to regard blackmailing people as just another kind of job, and rightful punishment to boot, had died a sudden, painful death.

His first reaction had been destructive fury. Then he'd got himself drunk, drunker than he'd ever been in all his life, except the day Lily died. It had helped, in a way, for when he'd woken from his alcoholic stupor and looked at the debris around him, he'd instinctively known that he'd finally touched bottom. You couldn't sink lower than that. No job, no friends, no money, no self-control, no clue what to do with your life – things just didn't get worse than that.

The humiliation he'd felt gnawing at him while he drank some black coffee and then set about repairing his possessions had hurt physically. A young girl had opened him up like you open an oyster, with a single deft twist of the knife. She'd laid him bare, and looked at the soft flesh inside, and then… And then she'd gently re-closed the shell. Severus wasn't quite sure what he found more debasing: the ease with which she'd penetrated his shell, or the gentleness with which she'd refrained from hurting him.

Because Hermione Granger was a Gryffindor and a powerful witch, he compared her to Lily. Would Lily have ripped out the flesh, or would she have understood the need to close the shell and let it be? He wasn't quite sure. Maybe comparing the two women was also rather unfair. After all, his actions had cost Lily's life, and that of her husband. Even if she had lived, he doubted she would ever have forgiven him James's death. His betrayal, although not directed at her, had hurt her, personally. The Granger girl, on the other hand, had never been his victim, whether directly or indirectly. So it was probably easier for her to understand. Or maybe not, because forgiveness and understanding were perhaps easier to achieve if the offence was personal. Judging crimes against somebody else was easier. Or maybe it wasn't. The comparison was futile anyway, because Hermione Granger really wasn't anything like Lily.

For example, Lily would never have fallen for Lucius. What on earth was Granger thinking? Did she honestly believe she could take up Lucius Malfoy? Take up with him, take him up, whichever of the two it was, it was bound to end in tears. Or worse. And the conversation he'd had the day before with Lucius… Severus walked to the window and stared out into the darkness and at the rain. The light from shops and restaurants made it visible, a faintly tinged curtain of water with a subtly changing pattern. City rain, already bearing the dust and pollution of the air, getting even dirtier once it hit the ground. He stood there for a while, with his forehead against the windowpane, which gradually warmed under his skin. He was feeling empty and very tired. He probably ought to go and do something about the girl. Maybe he ought to accept Lucius's offer of a well-paid job and embark on that harebrained project, so he'd be able to keep an eye on Granger.

It was already late when he ordered some Chinese takeaway, too late to do anything useful. Lucius had come to see him a little more than twenty-four hours ago – even if he'd seen the girl in the meantime, she'd hardly have given in to his advances so quickly. Besides, after the night of intoxication he'd spent, Severus needed sleep. But, he decided, he'd invite himself to breakfast at the Manor the next day and tell Lucius that he was interested in the project. He didn't have a plan – better, he thought, make it up as you went along.

PART FOURTEEN – In which Severus Snape intrudes upon a domestic idyll and gets a taste of Saucy Granger

After a day spent alternately reviewing sixth-year Transfiguration with Harry, daydreaming about Lucius and… well, daydreaming about Lucius, Hermione decided that there was definitely going to be a next time. He was delighted to receive her Floo call and asked her whether she'd stay the night, since it was already close to dinner time. She was nothing if not a studious pupil, and therefore didn't ask him three times if he was sure. She asked once, and when he repeated the invitation, she accepted.

Harry had gone to The Burrow, so she didn't need to invent either justifications or lies. She'd told Lucius she'd be there in half an hour, so there was enough time for a quick bath and a few charms, and also for transfiguring one of her flannel pyjamas into a creation she could only call daring but was very happy with. She was already at the door when she noticed that she'd forgotten the Sleekeazy potion and quickly summoned it from her bathroom. The night before, her hair had been in such a state… Hermione felt her face go hot, and her belly go all tingly when she remembered how exactly her hair had turned into a mass of knots.

Dinner was ready when she arrived at Malfoy Manor, but they barely made it through the first course. At least they had some of the dessert brought up to the bedroom shortly after midnight, but not much of it was eaten, and certainly not off the plates. Then she proceeded to tell Lucius that what was true for young men was certainly no less true for women, and that he did have a dubious reputation after all, and would he kindly stop ogling the chocolate soufflé, which had wilted into nothingness anyway, and dedicate himself to her education in the amatory arts.

They slept a few hours, and after waking up decided that a review of last night's lessons was in order. When they lay sated and smiling, exchanging lazy kisses, Hermione's stomach started to rumble, and so did Lucius's. With a wicked smile, Hermione went to brush her teeth and untangle her hair, and emerged from the bathroom ten minutes later, wearing an even wickeder smile and a negligee that forced Lucius to take a cold shower, unless he wanted to die from starvation and exhaustion.

They descended the stairs, Lucius in pyjamas and dressing gown and Hermione in a slightly altered version of her negligee (courtesy of Lucius) at half past nine and sat down for breakfast.

Hermione had only just devoured her first plate of scrambled eggs and, fortified by this preliminary skirmish, was preparing a serious attack on the bacon, tomatoes and mushrooms, when Severus Snape entered the morning room in a whirl of black robes.

'Good morning Severus – Drippy, another guest for breakfast,' was all Lucius said before turning his attention back to his plate.

Hermione's 'Good morning, Professor Snape' came out a bit on the squeaky side, but she managed a sunny smile.

'I beg your pardon,' Severus said in clipped tones. 'I wasn't aware I'd be intruding into a domestic idyll.'

'It's not that idyllic, Professor. We're just very hungry after…' She fell silent, both because Lucius was chuckling and Severus was staring daggers at her.

'Sit down, Severus,' Lucius said amiably, gesturing at the chair to his right. 'Eating breakfast while you're standing there glaring can't be good for the digestive system. Tea or coffee?'

'Coffee,' Severus said in a voice that could have cut diamonds. 'Well, any inquiry as to your well-being would be redundant, I suppose. If not downright ambiguous.'

'Absolutely.' Lucius helped himself to another slice of toast. 'Since I cannot say the same about you – how are you?'

'Somewhere between incredulous and revolted, to tell the truth.'

'I thought,' Hermione remarked between two bites of bacon and mushroom, 'that wizards were a bit more tolerant when it comes to age difference. Because of the average life expectancy, you know. Besides, we only had sex, I didn't ask Lucius to marry me or anything.' A muffled sound to her right told her that maybe she'd put in her foot again.

'You see?' Lucius said, when he'd put down his napkin, 'It's as simple as that. Hermione doesn't have any plans on me, merely on my virtue.'

'And you, Lucius? What plans do you have?'

'Oh!' Hermione exclaimed, 'That reminds me – did Lucius tell you about the project? What do you think of it? I thought it was brilliant, isn't it brilliant?'

Leaning back, arms crossed and giving off an air of bottomless disapproval, Severus looked her up and down. 'Right now, you're probably not thinking with your brain, Miss Granger.'

'If only you were talking out of your mouth, Professor,' she snapped back, 'you'd be slightly more credible. What's that air of righteousness supposed to be? Moral judgment? Or would you rather I slept with you?'

'Don't be impertinent. I want nothing of the kind, and if I disapprove, I do so for the sake of your safety.'

'Nonsense!' She stabbed her fork in his direction. 'If Lucius intended to harm me, he would've had ample occasion to do so. And if' – she speared a mushroom with a viciousness that made both men wince – 'you think that I'm about to become Lucius's sex slave, ready to commit dark crimes in exchange for a night of passion, you're a bit naïve. Good sex is a wonderful thing, but in the end it's just good sex.' She glowered at Severus. 'So tell me, what exactly are you worrying about?'

'Yes, do tell, Severus,' Lucius said sweetly. 'You heard the lady – she's not inclined to become my sex slave, more's the pity. The project I mentioned to you is entirely unrelated to whatever there may or may not be between Hermione and me. But I hope' – he helped himself to cold meat and mustard – 'that the purpose of your visit was to inform me, or rather us, that you're in. As I believe I already said, it wouldn't be possible without the information you possess. Letting it go to the dogs merely because of your entirely unwelcome moral reservations would be very regrettable.'

'What about your N.E.W.T.s?' Severus asked Hermione, completely disregarding Lucius's last words.

'What about minding your own business, Professor?'

'If I had limited myself to minding my own business, you would be in no shape to answer my questions with such impudence.'

'True, but you probably wouldn't be in any shape to ask them in the first place. Voldemort didn't like traitors, or so I heard.'

'Why don't we try to discuss the matter in a slightly more grown-up manner,' Lucius intervened, noticing the glint in Severus's eyes. 'Severus, why don't you accept that Hermione is old and mature enough to make her own decisions? And Hermione, dear, do you think you might be able to be a little more civil? It's difficult for a teacher to view former students other than as students.'

'If he stops being patronizing,' Hermione growled.

'I'm sure he will. Severus?'

'She's a mere chit of a girl, what on earth-'

'Severus, I believe Hermione expressed herself quite clearly. Stop patronizing her. I'm sure she'll be willing to consider any objections you might have, if you don't treat her like a first-year.'

'She clearly recognizes my authority, since she insists on calling me Professor!'

'Don't be silly,' Hermione said curtly, 'I merely call you Professor because I don't know what else to call you. Maybe you noticed that I didn't address you as Sir.'

'I think,' Lucius said, 'you ought to call each other by your first names. There's nothing like being on a first name basis to inspire a feeling of equality and mutual respect.'

Hermione's eyes went wide. 'Really?' She looked at Severus. 'Is that all right with you, Prof- I mean Severus?'

The homicidal stare Lucius received for this bold manoeuvre was very much at odds with Severus's suave tone as he replied, 'Of course, Hermione. You have always been such a diligent student – would you mind telling me how your N.E.W.T.s preparations are going?'

'Not at all,' she said with a smile so sugary it made her sick. 'I've finished long ago, and now I'm doing a bit of additional light reading and coaching Harry. I don't think the N.E.W.T.s will be a problem. Thank you so much for asking, Severus, that's very kind of you. Maybe we could discuss the project now?'


	6. Chapter 6

PART FIFTEEN – Wherein Harry and Hermione have a painful but important conversation

PART FIFTEEN – Wherein Harry and Hermione have a painful but important conversation

'Hi, Hermione!' Harry flung his bag into a corner and grinned at his friend. 'What are you studying now? You already know more than the examiners.'

'I'm not studying, I'm being creative.' Hermione looked up from a piece of parchment with red-rimmed eyes. 'Professor Snape, I mean Severus, agreed to work with us this morning, and now I'm trying to find a name for our organization.'

'Did you just say Severus?'

'Yes, well…' She put down her quill and rubbed her eyes. 'Lucius thought we'd stop being constantly at each other's throats if we used first names.'

'Sorry, but I have this strange feeling of having entered a parallel universe. Let's start again. I Flooed last night, and you didn't answer. Where were you?'

'Having dinner with Lucius.'

'Again? Hermione, that's the third time in less than a week! I'm sure the food is lovely-'

'And so is the company,' she interrupted him.

'Parallel universe,' Harry muttered. 'This is so weird… I Flooed this morning, and you didn't answer either. Must have been a very long dinner. Or were you having breakfast with Malfoy.'

Hermione cleared her throat. 'As a matter of fact, I was.'

He groaned. 'Please tell me that you were at home between dinner and breakfast!'

'That would be a lie, I'm afraid.'

'But… but… Bloody hell, Hermione, sometimes I'd prefer being lied to to hearing the truth! You didn't…'

'Yes, I did, I mean we did.' Hermione glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. 'You have five minutes for your sermon, starting now.'

'Do you think this is funny, or what? Hermione, he's Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy!'

'I know,' she said coolly, 'I slept with him.'

'He's a Death Eater!'

'He used to be a Death Eater, yes. He's been acquitted by the Wizengamot, and he hasn't called me Mudblood even once. He's very charming, witty and a wonderful lover. He cares about Severus and is willing to invest in the organization for which I'm trying to find a name.'

'Are you out of your mind? Don't you remember the fight at the Ministry? Sirius died, for heaven's sake!'

'I remember the fight, and I also remember that it was Bellatrix Lestrange who killed Sirius. I also remember that Lucius tried to get the prophecy without firing a hex. That doesn't make him less guilty, of course, but he went to prison for a whole year. I think we can regard that particular case as closed. A year with Dementors – don't you think he's paid in full for that mistake?'

'And Ginny,' Harry said, his voice trembling with fury, 'Should I forget what he did to Ginny?'

'I'm not saying you ought to forget, and I certainly don't want to forget anything. What I am saying, though, is that the past is the past, and while it's important, we are living in the present and therefore able to see the whole picture.'

'And the whole picture made you fall in love with Malfoy? You've only just dumped Ron!'

'Who said anything about falling in love?'

'You slept with him, for fuck's sake!'

'And that means I'm in love with him?'

Harry, who'd got out of his chair and started pacing, stood still abruptly. 'What else could it mean?'

'If I decide to have sex with a man, it means that I want to have sex with him, nothing else. Not necessarily anyway. You had sex with Lavender, but I very much doubt you were in love with her.'

He went pale. 'How do you know?'

'That's not really the point, is it? You had sex with her, but you love Ginny.'

'Y-yes.' He grabbed a fistful of his hair. 'But you're a girl, and…'

'And what, Harry?'

He was standing with his back to her, and so didn't see the expression on her face. 'Well, girls are different… It's in their genes, they just… They just don't have sex without… I mean, they have to have feelings for a man, in order to have sex with him.'

For a moment, Hermione wanted to hex him into a small pile of ashes. Then the red haze of fury lifted, and she was merely angry and, most of all, exasperated. 'What about you and Lavender then? Was she in love with you?'

Harry slowly turned around to face her. 'She was… Well, I suppose she was a bit… She did write afterwards, and she wasn't happy when I told her… So I suppose she must've had a crush on me, kind of.'

'What about you, then?'

'No, I wasn't – you know I love Ginny! It was just… I mean we hadn't done anything but kissing, and I'd been constantly fantasizing about… you know… with her…' He shrugged helplessly.

'And so, instead of just using your right hand, you fucked Lavender, whom you knew had a crush on you.' She caught his eye and held the contact. 'Tell me Harry, in which way exactly is that behaviour morally superior to me having sex with Lucius, two consenting adults who want nothing but to give and receive pleasure, no strings attached?'

'He's evil,' Harry replied stubbornly.

'And how many times did you call Lavender an empty-headed, big-titted bimbo? Have you changed your opinion in the meantime?'

'Not really,' he said, grinning.

'It's not funny, Harry! It's utter lack of respect! Especially if you're convinced that girls won't have sex unless they have the matching feelings. Can't you understand that? It's your business, and I'm certainly not going to tell Ginny, but at least don't think you have the right to judge me!'

Shaking his head, Harry sank down onto the sofa. 'But Ron – how could you do this to Ron?'

'Ron and I broke up two weeks ago, I think you know that.'

'Yes, but… That wasn't, I mean, final or anything… Lovers' tiff, Molly called it – such things happen in every relationship, you're meant to be together!' The look Hermione gave him made him add, 'Aren't you?'

Maybe it was the pleading look in his eyes, or the undertone of desperation in his voice. Hermione suddenly felt calm and a little hollow – the fury had left her, and the void was gradually being filled by sadness and a wish to be somewhere else; not in this house, where the past would never stop haunting them, where the Weasley twins had demonstrated their extendable ears, where Remus and Sirius had spent so many evenings sitting in the kitchen. She felt an overwhelming urge to cry, but fought it down. 'Harry,' she finally said, 'you must – no, that's not true. You don't have to do anything, because you're free and a grown-up. But I think it would be in your own best interest if you tried to let go. The past is gone and will never come back. Sirius is dead, Remus is dead, and I know how much letting go must hurt you, because you've lost so much and got so little in exchange. I understand that you want our trio to remain intact forever, and I'm sure that with a bit of time we'll all be friends again. You're my friend, Harry, and I love you. But that doesn't give you the right to pressure me into a relationship with Ron, which is definitely not meant to be. I'm sure Molly would love to have me in the family, but we all have our losses, and we have to cope with them, but certainly not by building our fantasies of life as it should be on other people's backs.'

'You're so…' Harry angrily wiped a tear from his cheek. 'I don't think I've ever seen you like this. Distant. And so cold.'

Hermione sighed deeply. 'I'm not being distant, Harry. And certainly not cold. I just think… You and Ron and I, we'd lost all sense of individuality, of boundaries that do and must exist between people. We'd begun to merge into some kind of formless blob, nobody knew where Harry began and Hermione ended. It was a good thing, while it was necessary. But now everything is over, Harry, really over, and we have to start our own lives. You're going to marry Ginny – do you think she'd be happy being married to Ron and me as well? She wants you, Harry, and you alone. She's in love with you, but if your relationship or marriage is to have a chance, she'll have to love you. You, not the formless blob.'

'It… hurts,' he gasped between sobs.

Hermione sat down next to him. 'I know it does.' She hugged him and held him tightly. 'I know it does, Harry, but isn't it a different kind of pain? The kind that makes you feel it won't hurt forever? I don't think I could ever not be your friend, and I'm absolutely sure it's the same with Ron. We're going to be friends, Harry, real friends, not three frightened children clinging together in the dark because the Bogeyman is coming.'

They sat together for a long while, and gradually Harry's sobs calmed down. Finally he raised his reddened, swollen face from her shoulder. 'I love you, Hermione.'

She kissed his cheek. 'Love you too, Harry.'

He grinned and fumbled for a hankie. 'Promise,' he said, after he'd blown his nose, 'that this time you'll be coming up with something better than S.P.E.W.!'

PART SIXTEEN – Wherein acronyms and four-letter words abound

'Why a four-letter word?' Lucius asked, resting his head on his elbow and looking at Hermione, who was lying on her back with an expression of ferocious concentration on her face. 'It could have three or five letters. Besides, most four-letter words are dirty, as you well know.'

'I don't know…' She pulled him down for a kiss. 'I just happen to like acronyms with four letters, I suppose.'

'Hmm. Then why not just have four letters, even if they don't form a word?'

Hermione arched into his caressing hand. 'I guess I want to be witty. And get over the S.P.E.W. trauma.'

'I beg your pardon?'

She explained about her luckless project for elfish welfare. 'It wasn't the best of names, really.'

'No,' he said, 'definitely not the best.' Face down on the pillow, his whole body shaking with mirth, he laughed until Hermione repeatedly slapped his bottom. 'Mmh!' He raised his head. 'I could get used to that – have I been a very bad boy?'

Hermione pulled back her hand as if she'd burned it. 'You're not serious, are you?'

'Not necessarily. But trying couldn't hurt, could it?'

'Erm…' Sitting cross-legged and thus giving Lucius a rather nice view, she pondered the question. 'I'd feel completely ridiculous,' she finally said.

'And if the roles were reversed?'

'I'm not sure. But… that's definitely something I might want to try. Not now, anyway, because I'm busy thinking. Society, committee, association…' She buried her head in her hands, muttering and tearing at her hair.

Lucius watched her for a while, then said, 'Why not try the other way round? Find a word that expresses, well, whatever you think it ought to express, and then make up the name.'

Hermione raised her head. 'Actually, that's a good idea.' There was a long pause. 'Now I can't think of any words with four letters. Oh!' she exclaimed, when he took her hand and guided it towards his lower belly. 'No, that won't work.' Her hand stroked up and down his length. 'The K's a real bitch.'

'Kinship? Kingdom? Kaleidoscope?' he moaned.

'Nonsense. The C might stand for Committee, that'd be all right.' In one fluid movement, she pushed Lucius on his back and moved to sit astride his knees. 'The O…' She thoughtfully bent down to tease him with her tongue. 'Come on, Lucius, say something.'

'Oh gods, yes!'

'Committee Ohgodsyes? That's not very promising. Plus' – a swirling movement of her tongue made him grip the sheet – 'there's another C. What about that, huh?'

'Cobra…'

'Mmh, yes, cobra. I'm dealing with one right now, and it's already raising its head very nicely, and I haven't even played the flute yet. But, my dear Sir, if you want the cobra to be a very happy snake, you'll have to do a little better than Committee Ohgodsyes Cobra Kaleidoscope. I'm sure you understand?'

Half laughing, half exasperated, Lucius raised his head. 'Don't test your luck, sweet. We could play this game the other way round, with an equally tricky four-letter word.'

'Not with my teeth where they are now,' Hermione said, her enunciation a little hampered by the acronym in her mouth.

After a short struggle, she was on her back, giggling breathlessly, with Lucius's head between her legs. 'Very well,' he said, 'if that's what you want.'

'Definitely,' she said throatily.

'Don't be so sure. Go on, give me a C! And I'm very sorry, but committee has already been used and is therefore no longer at your disposal.'

Hermione giggled. 'Council then. Oh my god!'

'Wrong. The next letter is a U.'

'Universal. Useful. Don't stop, for fuck's sake!'

'I came up with three words starting with K, under duress. I think you'll have to do a little better, Hermione.'

'Ulcer.'

'Very funny.'

'Ululation. Un… un…'

'Un what?'

'Lucius, I have no idea! My whole vocabulary is gone. Please! Unicorn!'

'Very poor, my dear. Very poor. That merits a flick of the tongue' – the action followed the words – 'at best. Let's proceed to the N then.'

'Naked!'

'How very predictable. Naked unicorns. Hermione, I'm beginning to share Severus's worries about your N.E.W.T.s.'

'Navel!'

'Are you giving me directions?'

'No, no! Stay where you are, please. Nirvana, nincompoop, nubile, nuptials, nebulous – that's five, isn't it?'

'You're doing splendidly. And now the T. What an easy letter.'

'Trauma – Lucius,' she said, raising her upper body, 'we could actually use trauma!'

'Especially in connection with a council of naked unicorns.' He kissed her gently. 'At least it would draw attention.'

They spent the next half hour in a very pleasant way, and the cobra was a rather flaccid but happy snake afterwards.

Hermione drank a glass of water in thirsty gulps. 'Did you talk to Severus since yesterday?' she asked.

'No. I wanted to give him time – Severus in righteous indignation is absolutely unpalatable. He'll come out of it, but usually it takes him a couple of days.'

'Why was he so upset, do you think?'

Untangling a strand of hair, Lucius shot her a sideways look. 'It might have been something I said.'

'When?'

'When I went to see him and tell him about the council of naked unicorns.'

'Oh. Did you say anything about – no, we hadn't yet… What on earth did you say, Lucius?'

He told her about his little ruse. When she merely laughed, he felt unaccountably relieved; he hadn't expected her to take it so well. 'I'm glad you don't mind,' he said, winding an obstinate curl round his finger.

'You'd already kissed me before you fed him that story. And' – she pressed her cheek against his palm – 'somehow I don't think you mean any harm. I'm sure you're going to try to put some Slytherin in me-'

'Tirelessly,' he said gravely, 'and not without success, if I may say so.'

'You're a dirty old man. And you know exactly what I mean. Now let's get out of bed and go to your study, where we'll be all well-behaved and formal, so we'll maybe find a name for our project.'

'Your project.'

'Our project. If you're a good boy and help me, we can do more naughty acronyms later.'

While he climbed the stairs to the second floor with his arm around Hermione's shoulder and tried to come up with lots of really useful four-letter words (tits was a plural, but he was sure it counted), Lucius seriously doubted his sanity. Then again, he thought, sanity was definitely overrated. Look where it had got him in the past – certainly not into bed with a lovely, playful young girl and naked unicorns.


	7. Chapter 7

PART SEVENTEEN – Wherein Severus Snape demonstrates that he is now a Better Person and makes astonishing predictions about Her

PART SEVENTEEN – Wherein Severus Snape demonstrates that he is now a Better Person and makes astonishing predictions about Hermione's future

If the Prime Minister had come to see her at no.12, Grimmauld Place, Hermione couldn't have been more surprised.

'Is Mr Potter at home?' Severus asked, casting a suspicious look into the half-lit entrance hall.

'Did you come to see Harry?' Hermione didn't quite know what to think; she wasn't going to bid the Potions master a kind good evening, however, because he hadn't bothered to greet her either.

'No, I came to see you, but if Potter's there as well…'

'It's his house, he has every right to be there. Anyway, he's gone out with Ron and George, which means that he probably won't be back till the small hours of the morning. And when he comes home, he won't be in a state to recognize you.' Severus nodded, but didn't move or say anything. The look on his face was both forbidding and contemptuous, probably because he'd been forced to talk about Harry, she thought. 'Well,' she finally said, 'Would you like to come in, or what? It's cold, so I don't intend to remain here for long.'

'I need to talk to you.'

'Come in then,' Hermione said impatiently. Then, seeing his haunted expression, she added, more kindly, 'It's very much changed. No ghosts to haunt you. We even managed to take off Mrs Black's portrait and store it in the cellar.'

'What would you know about ghosts,' he said, but it lacked venom. He sounded absent and uneasy.

'More than you can probably imagine,' Hermione replied dryly. 'Now come in, I'm going to make us some tea. Would you like to wait in the library?'

He nodded, wordlessly, and strode to the library without another look at her.

Hermione went down to the kitchen and mechanically prepared the tea, while her thoughts ceaselessly circled around the presence of her former teacher, his strange behaviour and his need to talk to her. Her affair with Lucius seemed like the most probable subject; she decided that she wasn't going to answer any questions he might have.

When she returned to the library, Severus was examining the annotations she'd made while reading an Arithmancy book. 'Additional light reading,' he muttered.

'I've never believed in knowing only what's in the textbooks,' Hermione said, while she poured their tea. 'Even if I'm only preparing for an exam, I like to…' She caught his mocking look and shrugged. 'I suppose I don't need to tell you.'

'No, you certainly don't. My memories of your Potions homework are still fresh in my mind.'

'What did you want to talk to me about?' she asked, when he'd sat down and accepted a mug.

His eyes wandering around the room, he avoided looking at her. 'Now that I'm here, I'm not sure it was such a good idea.'

'I suppose we'll only find out if we actually talk. But you do seem a little uneasy, Prof- er, Severus. Is it just the house, or…' She broke off in mid-sentence, because he was suddenly glowering at her.

'Kindly cease your attempts at meaningless blabbing, Miss Granger.'

'Oh, I see we're back at last names. Very well then, Mr Snape. Either you tell me what it is you want to talk to me about, or I suggest you leave, after you've finished your tea of course – I wouldn't want to be a bad hostess.'

'Lucius seems to be taking his task of polishing you quite seriously. You already talk like him.'

Swallowing her anger, Hermione leaned back and crossed her legs. 'It's not a bad thing, I think. A bit of that elegant arrogance won't do me any harm. I assure you I'm clever enough to take only what I think useful – healthy eclecticism, you might call it. If you choose to call it polishing, feel free to do so.'

'That's what he chose to call it.'

'Mr Snape, he told me about your conversation. So kindly don't try to sow discordance between us. It's not going to work, not that way at least.'

Severus drank some tea without taking his eyes off her. 'I presume he introduced you to Maître Belcheveu.'

She passed a hand over her head. 'I think short hair suits me.'

'I wasn't attempting to start a conversation on hairstyles.'

'No,' she said briskly, 'I don't think that's your field of expertise. Look, Mr Snape' – she put down her mug and leaned forward, her elbows on her knees – 'if you've come here to lecture me about Lucius, you're wasting your time. If it's something else, I'd suggest you just say it.'

Severus inclined his head in mute acknowledgement of her words. 'I see. Well then, Miss Granger, I have come here to tell you that I'm not going to work with you on Lucius's project.'

'That's a pity, because there won't be any project without you. And I have to say, I don't quite understand your sudden change of heart.'

'I…' He paused, then seemed to come to a decision and continued, 'I wasn't very interested in the first place and merely agreed to collaborate because I thought it would give me the opportunity to keep an eye on you. And Mr Potter,' he added, with a pinched expression.

'To keep an eye… Are you saying that you meant to protect me, or us, from Lucius's sinister schemes?'

'That would be the gist of it, yes. But then, I…' He sighed deeply and crossed his arms. 'I realized that I'd spent half my life looking after ungrateful brats, and that I really don't want to waste my time anymore on people who won't even recognize what I do for them.'

'Good for you,' Hermione said, smiling at him. 'It's time you lived a life of your own. But… I'm sure you won't like the question, but what about the, well, financial aspect? As far as I know, you don't have a job or anything.'

'No, I don't. But I have decided to leave England. There used to be a tradition in the old times – Muggles had it too, I believe – of young men travelling and learning their profession. I may not be a young man anymore, and I certainly am no apprentice, but I'm also well aware that I still have a lot to learn. Besides, potions are needed everywhere, so I suppose I'll be able to make a decent living selling them. For a start, I do have some money.' He gave her a sharp look. 'It wasn't honourably acquired, but as Tiberius said, Non Olet. It's not much, and I sent her 200 galleons back to Mrs Westkin, but the rest is mine, and I intend to put it to good use.'

'You'll be lonely,' Hermione said tonelessly.

'Yes, I will. But I am by nature a solitary creature. And maybe you're aware, in spite of your youth and lack of experience, that the solitude of a wanderer is quite different from the loneliness you experience when isolation is forced upon you by others.'

'I know what you mean, of course. And I can understand… Sometimes,' she said, feeling a sudden and inexplicable rush of affection for this dark, inaccessible man, 'I feel exactly the same. I had this talk with Harry, three days ago… About friendship, and about the need to re-establish boundaries between us – he's struggling with it, because he thinks he's going to lose me and Ron… And while we were talking, I felt this strong urge to go and live elsewhere. Not to leave England – you're in a very different position there – but to move out of this house, which is so crowded with the past and with dead people that the living scarcely have any space to breathe.'

'You could…' He cleared his throat. 'That is, if you really mean to leave Grimmauld Place, I'd offer you my flat, for rent if you want.'

'Really?' Her smile was so beatific that he just had to smile back. 'Oh, that would be wonderful – of course I'll pay you rent, that would give you a regular income.'

'I won't ask much,' Severus said. 'But I'm sure you won't accept just living there without paying for it. You're right though, a small basic income won't hurt.'

'Lucius is going to miss you terribly.'

'Miss Granger, I'm aware that you're happy with my offer, and basking in the glow of your, erm, relationship with Lucius, but that's no excuse for your infantile sentimentality. Rest assured that Lucius is not going to miss me.'

'Why is it,' she snapped, suddenly and unaccountably angry, 'that you just can't accept this simple truth: Lucius likes you, and he's going to miss you. If it didn't sound so stupid, I'd say he loves you. He's your friend, why can't you acknowledge that?'

Severus shook his head. 'I appreciate the effort, Miss Granger, but trust me on this: Lucius doesn't love. It would be better if you abandoned any hopes you might be nourishing.'

'I'm not talking about me, I'm talking about you! He deeply cares for you, is that so horrible?'

'He might have, a long time ago. Not now though.'

'Why? What makes you think so?'

'Don't play dumb, Miss Granger. I betrayed him.'

'I think you're completely wrong there. No, let me finish,' she said, when Severus opened his mouth to interrupt her. 'I know you won't believe it, because you think I'm a silly chit of a girl and Lucius is nothing but a cold, superficial shark in human form. To a certain degree, you're of course right: I'm only just over eighteen, and Lucius is a sneaky bastard. He's calculating, and self-serving, and his morals, if you can call them by that name, are dubious, to say the least. So, as I said, I know you won't believe it, but Lucius and I don't just fuck all day long, we actually talk a lot. About everything, which happens to include you. Of course he resents your betrayal. But he doesn't take it personally – you betrayed Voldemort after all, not him. You saved his son, you saved his freedom, and he saved your life. Those are facts. Of course he bears you a grudge, and yes, it's related to your betrayal, but not the way you think! He's angry, because you realized your mistake long before he did, and because he would've gone over to our side but couldn't, because it was too late. Part of that anger is directed at himself, and in some irrational way he can't forgive you that you didn't, well, convince him to change sides when there was still time.'

'I didn't trust him,' Severus said slowly. 'If I'd been, not sure, but if he'd given me reason to believe…'

'How would that have been possible? The way I see it, keeping a balance of distrust and suspicion among his followers was one of Voldemort's strong points. Constant fear, constant suspicion, and he knew all too well about everyone's weak points. Lucius's was his family, or why do you think he established his headquarters at the Manor? He was well aware that Lucius would have defected instantly, if there hadn't been that Lestrange madwoman to keep an eye on him. Anyway, why don't you just accept that the two of you are friends? It's not a crime, for heaven's sake!'

'Nothing Lucius gives away comes without a price, Miss Granger. Certainly not his friendship. You'd do well to keep that in mind.'

'Why on earth do you seem to think that I'm as stupid as a chicken? I went to him because he was the only person I could think of who'd help you. I'm sure that he doesn't intend to harm me, and we've formed this relationship – I have no idea how long it's going to last, or what will come of it. But I think I made my perception of Lucius very clear. I know how and what he is. That doesn't stop me liking him, though.'

'It's just as you said, Miss Granger. You're barely over eighteen, you are an innocent, in spite of everything you've seen and lived through. I, on the other hand, have lost that innocence a long time ago.'

'I think,' Hermione said quietly, 'after what Voldemort and then Dumbledore did to you, you've every right to be cynical. How could you trust anybody? But maybe…' She passed a hand through her short curls. 'Maybe leaving will be good for you. You're going to meet people who've never heard of Voldemort, or Dumbledore, or Severus Snape. You'll be a blank page to them, and maybe that's what you need. Just blank pages, no memories, no hidden meanings. Just empty spaces and new choices. No big ones, either, merely whether to stay or leave, go left or right. I suppose you will have to learn a lot.' She smiled at him. 'Believe it or not, I almost envy you.'

'You're being sentimental again, but I appreciate the way you're trying to understand me.' Severus rose from his chair. 'When you see Lucius, tell him I'll be in touch. The flat is yours starting tomorrow – I'll send a standard contract by owl. When you've signed it, send it back to Gringotts, they'll put it in my vault.'

Her throat suddenly tight and painful, Hermione nodded. 'Will do. Professor… Severus, take care. Promise?'

He smiled down at her. 'I will. So should you… Hermione. And I expressly forbid you to name any of your children after me – that's something Lucius would do, merely to spite me.'

'Children?'

'You're sleeping with an archetypal patriarch, Miss Granger, make no mistake. And now' – he held out his hand – 'good bye. Stay as you are. Although' – he smirked – 'you might want to work on that annoying habit of blushing.'

'Good bye, Professor!' Hermione hugged him fiercely and smiled into his shoulder when his arms tentatively closed around her. 'And thank you!'

The last words echoed through the already empty room. Typical, she thought, first he complained about you being ungrateful, and when he finally stopped being a bastard long enough so you could say thank you, he was gone before you'd finished saying it.

Children… Lucius the patriarch… _Severus Malfoy?_ Good Lord. Well, for now she had a flat, she had money, and she wanted a life. She also wanted a lover, but certainly no husband, not for the time being. There was also the project – maybe they'd be able to go through with it even without Severus's help. Hermione stretched, long and with relish, then sat down at her desk. If Lucius really wanted her, he'd have to work for it. Right now, there was Arithmancy, and then she'd go back to her acronym. There was nothing like a good acronym to start a project…

THE END


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